


Under Seige

by phantisma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non Consensual, Off-Screen Bestiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Near the end of Season Six, after "The Man Who Would Be King"...Castiel has not been seen or heard from since his last conversation with Dean at Bobby's.  Time marches on without him and Sam and Dean keep hunting.  One night Sam wakes to sounds he can't place and Balthazar appears, leaving a very wounded, unresponsive & comatose Castiel in their care before he disappears.  Thus begins a mystery that will stretch the already thin resources of the Winchester boys to their limits...and may break more than one of them before the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic that ate my brain, continues to eat my brain. It is partially the fault of a friend and the conversation begun at her house on Saturday. Fair warning that the topic of that conversation was what situations either of us could conceivably actually slash Castiel with either of the boys....so while this has not yet gone to a slashy place, it very well may and may ultimately include Dean/Castiel, Sam/Castiel and quite possibly Dean/Castiel/Sam...consider yourself warned. As to warnings for this part? Much Castiel whumpage (including implied sexual assault, which it should be said is implied to include non-con bestiality of a sort). Mind fuckery. Implied and partially remembered violence.

There was a sound, something Sam remembered vaguely, but wasn't a part of his conscious thought…an itching, persistent feeling that made him sit up, reaching for his head, anticipating a headache that isn't manifesting. 

The room was dark but for the sickly green glow of the alarm clock's face, quiet but for the soft snoring of his brother in the next bed. Sam looked around him, frowning hard enough that his face muscles hurt.

_"Sam."_

It was a whisper, barely that and if not for the things he'd seen and done in his life he might brush it off, ignore it…but he's Sam Winchester and disembodied voices in the middle of the night whispering his name really wasn't all that strange.

He stood slowly, hand slinking under a pillow to come out with a gun, and he stepped cautiously toward a window. He wasn't certain what woke him, what that tickling feeling in his head meant…or why his stomach was suddenly twisted up tight, but something or someone wanted his attention.

The parking lot outside their room was mostly empty. The light of the single lamp shone off the sleek, black side of the Impala, distorting his vision for the moment. There was a crack of thunder, but not a cloud in the sky, then his stomach churned and dropped like he was being yanked and pulled, then dropped.

His hands shook as he approached the door, sparing a glance at Dean who was only just starting to stir. Sam stepped carefully over the salt lines with bare feet, easing around the corner.

His gun was up, but he lowered it as lightning flashed and thunder shook the ground. Pavement cracked and Sam's eyes followed the broken asphalt to smoke and the smell of sulfur on the air. The illusion of dark wings spread wide and looking more than a little ragged was superimposed over the squatting figure whose head slowly lifted.

"Balthazar." Sam whispered the name.

The angel stumbled and listed to the side as he stood, his clothing smoking.

"Are you…" Sam didn't really know what to ask, and the angel didn't answer, just looked down at the ground beneath him. Sam started when he realized why. "Castiel?" He crossed the distance, stopped when he was close enough to get a really good look. "What happened?" Sam asked, looking up at Balthazar.

The angel held up a hand, shook his head. "Take care of him." His voice was wrecked and he turned away slowly, as if every move was painful

"Wait…what happened?"

Balthazar stumbled, his hand landing on the trunk of the Impala to keep from falling, then he was just gone, leaving nothing but a hand-print seared into the paint of the car. Dean was gonna love that. 

Sam shook his head and turned his attention back to Castiel who hadn't moved. He was breathing, Sam could see the rise and fall of his chest. He was nearly naked, the familiar trench coat gone, the shirt and tie missing. All that really remained was a pair of dirty boxers that were stained with blood and other things Sam didn't really want to think about.

He touched Castiel's arm, but pulled back almost immediately. The skin was hot. Too hot to be natural. Not that he knew what is natural for an angel. He did know he needed to get him out of the parking lot, get him cooled off and cleaned up. "Okay, Castiel, I hope you can hear me in there. I'm going to get you inside."

Which was harder than he first thought because Castiel was hot all over and unresponsive, so Sam was lifting dead weight that was uncomfortably warm. He finally got him in a fireman's carry and struggled toward the room.

Dean woke as Sam kicked the door closed and fought his way to the bathroom. 

"Sam?" 

Sam lowered Castiel, leaning him against the sink as he reached in to turn the shower on. He could feel Dean behind him. "Castiel?" Sam could start to see that Castiel was seriously torn up, though the layer of dirt made it hard to tell how badly.

Sam nodded. "Help me get him in. We need to cool him off." 

Dean squeezed into the little bathroom and together they manhandled Castiel's unresponsive body into the shower. Sam ended up in with him, holding him up as the tepid water flowed over them both.

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, his hand lifting to ghost over the lash marks that covered what Sam could see of the angel's back.

Sam could only shake his head. "I heard something…went outside. Thunder and lightning, then Balthazar was there, leaving Castiel like this and telling me to take care of him."

"Balthazar? Just dropped by and left us…."

"Pretty much." 

Castiel's skin was starting to cool, but he still wasn't stirring. "Help me get him cleaned up."

"And then what?" Dean asks.

"Hell if I know." 

Together they worked the small bar of hotel soap over the angel, not that it seems to be doing much good, until they reached the waistline of his boxers. Sam looked at Dean who looked back, neither of them really wanting to be the one who actually divested the divine being of the last of his dignity. 

"We can't…." Dean sort of gestured. "I mean…He's…"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, we can't leave them on him either. Look at them."

Dean grimaced. "I'd rather not."

"It's for his own good." Sam argued, not sure he really believed it. "It's not like we're…"

"Right." Dean agreed, nodding once. "Okay. I'll do it."

Dean hande Sam the soap in his hand and grabbed Castiel's boxers, pulling them down over his ass. They hit the floor of the shower with a wet plop, but Sam couldn't take his eyes off the skin Dean had exposed. 

Castiel's ass was nearly black, and even in the dim light of the bathroom, Sam could tell it wasn't dirt. The skin was bruised, torn open in places. It made Sam re-evaluate the rest of him.

"We need to get him out into better lighting." Dean said.

Sam nodded, turning the water off. It took a serious effort to move him out of the tub, now that they realized the dirt had been hiding hurts they hadn't imagined. They toweled him off and brought him out into the room, laying him down on the bed Dean had just recently left.

Dean turned on every light in the room and they both stared for a long time at the broken body that lay before them. Sam had dropped the towel over Castiel's crotch, but they both knew they were going to have to examine him from head to toe.

"Okay, I'll start with his feet." Sam said finally, moving to the end of the bed. 

Dean nodded, but didn't say anything, just moved toward Castiel's head. Sam's first touch was tentative. The angel's left foot was bruised, the ankle swollen. He felt over it for broken bones, and finding none, he moved to the right. 

There were welts there, all along the bottom of his foot, raised and red and angry looking welts nearly half an inch thick and the pads of his toes all looked as though they'd been burned recently.

Sam forced himself to continue his examination, working up his legs. The right knee was swollen, bruised, but the injury was not fresh. The skin all around his knees was covered in what looked like bite marks, though the mouth that made them was small. Sam leaned in to get a better look. Each tooth made a tiny, deep puncture wound, each mark had about fifteen tiny wounds, and there had to be thirty marks on each knee.

He spared a glance up at his brother. Dean was currently feeling his way down Castiel's chest, feeling out each rib carefully. His face was grim and set. Whatever had happened to Castiel, it was easy to see it hadn't been good. At least they understood why they hadn't seen him in weeks. More than that now. 

Sam bit his lip and moved his examination up to Castiel's thighs. It had been more than two months since they'd seen the angel…maybe closer to three. The inside of Castiel's right thigh was black with bruising. Sam eased his legs open a little bit to get a better look. There was blood on the skin, but no visible wound until Sam moved his attention to the left thigh. 

He swallowed hard, moving one finger to brush over what could only be claw marks, three deep punctures that oozed blood as Sam brushed them, as if something had grabbed the leg and used it to…he couldn't even fathom what. His stomach twisted again…something niggling his head…something he couldn't place…a feeling like he knew….

"Sam." Dean's voice was dark and he snapped his fingers at Sam, pulling him back to the moment.

"Yeah, sorry." He licked his lips and refocused. Dean pulled the towel away, exposing Castiel's hips and genitals. Sam gasped and wanted to look away, but he couldn't. The hips had similar bite marks as his knees, and the bruises were a spectacular array of colors, layers of abuse evident in the tender skin that led to his cock.

At least his cock looked…intact. It was a deep red and had a welt across the top that looked painful. "Is that…" Dean was squinting at the tip of Castiel's cock and Sam turned his head to get a better look.

"Yeah, looks like the same thing that was biting on his knees."

Dean shudder and exhaled. "Let's turn him over."

They were as careful as they could be getting him rolled, but they both stopped cold once they had. Castiel's back was a mass of old scars and fresh marks, like he'd been scourged with a cat o'nine tails over and over again…allowed to heal, only to start again. From his neck down to his ass, and if Sam looked close enough, he could see scarring under the bruising that blackened his cheeks. 

"What in the hell happened to him?" Dean asked, his voice hushed.

That tingling feeling in his head was back, that half a notion he remembered something that kept slipping away…then it was like something cracked, and there was sulfur and sweat and the burn of a lash on his skin. Sam stumbled back, reaching out for Dean, but finding the second bed first, sitting down hard on it and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Hell," he choked out. Hell is what happened to Castiel. Even if he didn't understand how or why. Somehow Sam just knew.

 

Sam was sleeping, or pretending too, his face turned away from where Dean paced. Castiel hadn't woken yet, though his body temperature was closer to normal. To be honest, Dean wasn't sure what he would do if Castiel did wake up right then.

It was clear the angel had been through an ordeal, and the fact that he wasn't healed, that Balthazar had just dropped him on their doorstep like this, meant that it was far worse than just a sick or beat up Castiel.

And, Sam's reaction was not making Dean comfortable. The sickly pale face, the way his eyes darkened and his hands shook….he swore he didn't remember anything, that the wall was in place, his memories of more than a year in the cage locked away safely behind it, but Dean wasn't really all that sure.

They couldn't afford for Sam to lose it. The memories would cripple him at best, tear him to shreds mentally.

Dean stopped pacing, biting his lip as he watched Sam. He had just gotten his brother back…after everything…all the bad decisions, the lies, the fighting…after a year of living a life that was never his…and the soulless thing…Dean didn't want to lose him now.

Not again.

He sighed and went back to pacing, because it was four in the morning and he had nowhere to go and nothing he could do. They had treated the worst of Castiel's open wounds, packed ice in towels around his knee, and now they could only wait for him to wake up.

To be honest, he knew Sam was right. The only place Dean had ever seen anyone as torn up as Castiel was in Hell. His hands tightened into fists as he pushed the sudden cascade of his own memories away, trying to hold them down.

Most days, he could keep them tucked away, hidden. And as long as they were tucked away, Dean could focus, he could function. He went to the table in the corner of the room where his duffle sat, rummaging in it until he came up with his flask. There wasn't much in it, but he just needed a sip. A little burn to make the images in his head fade.

He knew all too well what the marks on Castiel's body were from, the kinds of torture that left those kinds of scars and bruises and wounds had been visited upon him for years in hell. Dean swallowed down the last of the whiskey in his flask and tossed the flask back into his bag.

What he didn't understand was how or why Castiel had been in hell in the first place. The last time he and Cas had spoken Dean had begged him to stop the crazy train he was on, forget about purgatory, put Crowley where he belonged.

At the time Castiel had seemed…hurt that Dean didn't trust he was doing the right thing, that he had lost something in losing Dean's trust, but Dean knew he was wrong and he knew he had to make his friend see how wrong it was.

He went back to pacing. He had to believe that Crowley had something to do with this. His eyes stole to the clock on the table between the beds. It was stealing up on five am. He could go get coffee, breakfast. 

They couldn't stay there, clearly. Balthazar found them, which meant Crowley could too. Dean was done trying to figure out how, with the Enochian symbols carved into them and the precautions they took, people kept finding them.

He was beginning to wonder if he and Sam were giving off some sort of homing beacon. Whatever it was, they were leaving as soon as Sam was awake. Dean had already packed their stuff up.

He grabbed the key to the room and his wallet, easing out the door and checking the lock behind him before he started for the diner attached to the dump they were crashed in. 

Twenty minutes later he had Styrofoam containers with pancakes and eggs and bacon, and two large cups of coffee that he balanced on top. The skies were just starting to get light.

He got the door open and struggled a little to get inside, but then hands were taking the coffees and that made it just a little easier. Sam looked bleary eyed and still more than a little bit spooked, but he nodded and took the coffees to the table. Dean followed and they sat wordlessly, opening the containers and splitting the contents between them.

They were half way to done when Sam cleared his throat. “So, I was thinking. We should probably get moving. We don’t know what went down, but I’m betting that whoever did that to Cas is going to be looking for him.”

Dean nodded his agreement. “I thought the same thing. You said Balthazar looked rough?”

Sam grimaced. “He looked like he’d been through hell. His wings were…ragged when the lightning flashed and I could see them. He was hurting.”

Dean’s eyes flashed to Castiel who hadn’t moved. “Moving him is going to be a bitch.”

“Bobby’s?” Sam asked. 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, at least until we know more. I’ll call him, let him know we’re coming.”

Sam stood, grabbing at the cheap ice bucket. “We should re-pack his knee before we move him.”

“Good idea.” 

Sam headed out the door and Dean dialed the phone. Bobby’s voice was gruff and harsh when he answered. “What?”

“It’s me. Sam and I are headed your way.”

“You gotta call me at this hour to tell me?” Bobby groused.

“Yeah, well…things have changed. We found Castiel. Or…he ain’t good. We might be moving targets.”

“Might be?”

Dean exhaled heavily. “So far all we know for sure is that Cas is really beat up, and unconscious. He hasn’t been able to tell us anything.” Dean wasn’t ready to voice the idea of hell yet, even if it did seem to be the only logical explanation.

There was a time when hell wouldn’t have been his first or most logical explanation for anything, but then, that was back before angels were real. 

“Okay, I’ll prep the panic room.”

“Call you when we’re close.” Dean hung up the phone and stood, crossing to the bed where Castiel lay. He sat down gingerly, fingers grazing over the bandages on his side where there was a long, curving gash. They had propped him on his right side, using rolled up blankets and pillows to keep him from laying on his back. “What the hell happened to you?” Dean asked softly before turning his attention to the swollen knee.

There was a whimper, soft, almost lost into the pillow, as Dean touched Castiel’s leg. “Cas?” Dean tried to keep his voice soft.

Castiel responded by rolling away from Dean, curling his body inward. “Castiel, it’s me. It’s Dean. Can you hear me?”

There was a rustling sound, like whispers carrying on a breeze and as Dean leaned in closer he could see Castiel’s mouth moving swiftly…there was little sound though, as if he had no voice to lend strength to the prayer.

Light filled the room as Sam returned, the door hitting the wall in his haste. He pushed the door closed, plunging them back into the gloom. “We need to hurry. I think we’ve got company.”

“Demons?”

Sam nodded, passing off the ice bucket and ducking into the bathroom for clean towels.

“Okay, Cas, I need to take these off, and ice the knee again. I’m not going to hurt you.” Which wasn’t necessarily true. Dean couldn’t begin to know the full extent of his injuries, so just moving him enough to unwrap the towels might hurt. While he worked the towels off, Sam was busy putting ice into the towel and folding it. He handed the pack to Dean, followed by a roll of duct tape. “Find him some pants. I think my sweats are clean.” Dean said, trying to hurry.

“Is he awake?”

Dean shook his head as he finished. “I don’t think so….not really anyway. He made some noise, but I don’t think he even realizes he isn’t…wherever he was.” Sam handed him the sweat pants.

It had been a long time since Dean had to dress a grown man. Sam eased onto the bed, arms moving around Castiel to slowly sit him up. Dean knelt beside him, guiding his feet into the legs of the sweats and down to the floor. He pulled them up, forcibly ignoring the fact that his face was delicately close to Castiel’s groin.

Sam hefted upward to get Cas off the bed enough for Dean to pull the sweats all the way up, then eased him down again, letting him lean back against Sam. Dean stood, huffing a little. “I’ll take the bags out to the car. You got him for now?”

Sam nodded and Dean grabbed the keys and their bags, headed out to the car. There was a woman at the end of the parking lot staring at him with black eyes. Dean opened the trunk, dropping the bags in and grabbing a shotgun. If she wasn’t alone they were screwed. 

He looked up and she was gone. Dean raced back to the room. “Okay, let’s go.”

It was going to be close. Sam was already hefting Cas up into a fireman’s carry. “Door.” Dean grabbed the door and let Sam lead the way out, moving around him once they were clear and running ahead to get the back door open.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice held a note of urgency and Dean turned as the same woman reached for Sam. Dean shot two rounds of rock salt into her to give Sam some room, stepping in closer to finish her with Ruby’s knife. “Keys.” Sam yelled and Dean tossed him the keys, standing to find two more black eyed freaks coming at him. 

He fired more rock salt as he moved back to the car. Sam was pulling out of the spot, and the door was suddenly open. Dean climbed in, still firing out the window as Sam hit the gas.

He plowed one of them over, some soccer mom in an apron, and they peeled out of the parking lot. Dean half expected one of them to land on the car, but a few minutes later, Sam had them on the highway, roaring toward Bobby’s place at a speed that probably wasn’t safe.

 

It rode him the whole way, the uncomfortable feeling that he was forgetting something important, something vital….that something was just outside his reach, trying to be seen, trying to climb out of the shadows in his brain.

He spent an inordinate amount of time reminding himself why he can’t remember, why he can’t try, and pushing the feeling away. It was like a scab, all puffed up and itching and he wanted to pick at it, scratch it, but he knew he couldn’t.

“You’ve been quiet.” Dean said. 

They were still two hours from Bobby’s, pulled off at a rest stop. Castiel was still quiet and unmoving in the back seat. Sam could see the concern on his brother’s face.

“I’m okay.” Sam assured him, lifting his bottle of water. 

“Yeah?” Dean asked, his eyes narrowing. “Cause you gotta tell me if you’re not. I can’t…” He huffed. “I can’t take care of him and you at the same time.”

Sam knew that, of course. He was balanced on a fine edge. “I’m good. Promise.” His eyes scanned the area. It had been empty when they pulled in, but a couple of big rigs had pulled in and a car was just stopping near the bathrooms. “Maybe we should go.” 

Dean’s eyes were tracking the couple getting out of the car. He nodded tightly. “Yeah. Get in."

Sam rubbed at his forehead, trying to push away the not quite there headache that had been with him since he'd been woke up just before Balthazar showed up with Castiel. It wasn't building or going away…it was just there, like the nagging feeling he was ignoring.

Dean pulled them back out onto the long stretch of road.

"Go ahead and sleep if you want." Dean said. "I'm good to Bobby's."

Sam nodded, closing his eyes against the bright afternoon sunlight and letting his mind go blank. Sleep was easy, considering how little of it he'd gotten the night before and it wasn't long before he was snoring lightly, his breath fogging the window.

 

_He's falling, flailing, coming apart, ripping into pieces of himself….until he's crashing, slamming into cold and hard and crushing….the pieces shattering, scattering….and everything hurts, every tiny piece of him screams out in agony as the fire rises up to consume him…but the fire only pulls him deeper, into the ground…drags the pieces through earth and rock…his lungs fill with dust, with mud…and he can't breathe, can't stop the endless dropping…can't pull the pieces together…can't…can't…_

 

Sam was making very distressed sounds in his sleep and Dean was getting more and more concerned. They were only a little ways from Bobby's, but he slowed down, getting ready to pull over.

Sam thrashed, his head knocking against the window, making him wake with a start. "Hey, you---"

Behind them, Castiel twitched, whimpering. Dean almost had them pulled off the road when Castiel sat up, clutching at the seats, his mouth open in a nearly soundless scream.

Dean grabbed Sam and yanked him down against the seat, throwing himself over Sam and covering his head as the windows blew out. Glass showered them and the ground outside, the hood, the trunk. Dean sat up slowly, brushing the glass off him. 

Castiel was still sitting, breathing heavily. "Cas?" Dean said as gently as he could. 

Castiel's head turned, his eyes filled with…nothing Dean had ever seen in those eyes before. "Cas?" he said again.

He blinked, rapidly, looking at Dean as though he wasn't real, couldn't possibly be real. Dean understood that feeling all too well. His mouth formed the word, Dean's name, though no sound came out. Dean nodded. "It's okay. We got you. You're safe." He touched the hand Cas had grabbed the back of the front seat with.

Castiel pulled it back, shaking and curling into himself. His mouth was still moving, but he was no longer looking at Dean and Dean sighed heavily. "Just…hang tight. We'll be at Bobby's soon."

He got them started again and spared a glance at his brother. "You okay?"

Sam looked shaken, but he nodded. "Yeah…I…I think so." He shifted, brushing glass off of him. "I…nightmare." He shook his head, rubbing at his forehead again. He'd been doing that an awful lot. "I don't really remember…just…that it was terrible…"

The wind whipping through the now non-existent windshield kept them to a slower pace than Dean would have liked and left him feeling particularly vulnerable. He was relieved to finally cross the boundary into Bobby's property and roll up to a spot near the door.

Bobby was on the porch before Dean had the car in park. "What the hell happened?"

Dean opened his door and shook his head. "Castiel. Screaming." He tossed the keys to Sam so he could get their bags. "You got stuff ready?"

Bobby nodded as Dean moved to the back door of the car. He eased it open, but Castiel pulled away from him. "Cas, Bobby's got a bed set up for you. We're going to take care of you."

Castiel's only response was to pull his feet in closer. Dean sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to carry him. "Alright fine."

He took Castiel's wrist and pulled him toward the door, getting him up onto his shoulder and following Bobby into the house. The stairs were hard to navigate with Castiel lying like dead weight against him, but he eventually made it to the bottom and into the panic room. 

Bobby and Sam helped Dean lay Castiel on the cot Bobby had set up. Sam pulled a blanket up over Castiel and the three of them withdrew to the doorway.

"What the hell is going on?" Bobby asked, his voice gruffer than usual.

Sam shivered and crossed his arms, tearing his eyes away from Castiel, but not really looking at either Dean or Bobby. “I woke up…and I heard something…went outside and Balthazar…just told me to take care of him and disappeared.”

“How bad is he?” 

Dean made a face, not really wanting to answer. He knew the marks on Castiel’s body, knew what made those marks. He knew the damage done to the parts of his body that Sam and Bobby probably hadn’t even considered…and how. Castiel hadn’t just been tortured or punished. He’d been raped repeatedly and by very large objects on top of demon dicks.

“Well, I think he’ll live. We need to start getting fluids into him though.”

Bobby nodded. “I’ll go get the IV kit.”

Dean watched him go, then flicked his eyes to Sam. He didn’t say anything, but then, he didn’t have to.

Sam inhaled and nodded. “I’m good. Go get some rest. I’ll sit with him a while.”

“If he wakes up, keep him calm.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No Dean, I thought I’d see if I could get him to freak out on me.” He pushed Dean toward the stairs. “Go. I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Dean left Sam still standing in the doorway, traipsing tiredly up the stairs. He wasn’t sure he would sleep, he was too tense, too on edge…but he was going to at least lay down. He had a feeling that the next few days were going to be difficult.

 

_Sounds filter in to his consciousness…sounds he vaguely recognizes as the voice of this vessel…this body he is trapped in…sounds of pain and horror…sounds that rip from his throat until they are lost in a bloody gurgle as the flesh tears and rips…he has never felt so alone, so cut off from heaven, from his brothers…from the solitude of knowing he is loved…the body drips blood and gore from open wounds and try as he might he can not heal the injury, can not flee the body…and as the abuse begins anew, he feels the breech, the penetration…unwanted, violent…not just the body…no, this goes deeper…claws dig into his shoulders and hold him…not the vessel, as something large and hot is shoved into him. He screams “no” over and over again, but no one hears him and all around him there is laughter..._

The silence was profound, even though he knew there should be sound. He was screaming. His eyes opened and he sat up, grabbing at the blanket covering him, half sure this was yet another illusion, another attempt at breaking him. 

His breath came raggedly and it took him a moment to recognize where he was. At least it was a different illusion. He licked cracked lips and turned his head, stopping and starting to shake when he realized he was not alone.

“Cas?”

The voice was familiar. Castiel cocked his head, trying to see into the shadows. A dark figure moved closer and Castiel couldn’t stop himself from shrinking back away from him.

“Easy” He moved close enough that Castiel could see him.

Sam. Winchester. 

“Easy, I’m not going to hurt you.” He held out a hand with a bottle of water in it. 

Castiel lifted a hand to take it, pausing when he realized there was a tube in his arm. His eyes tracked to it, trying to make it make sense. 

“You’ve been unconscious since Balthazar left you with us.” Sam offered. He moved closer slowly. “We had to get something into you.”

Balthazar. Castiel frowned. The name was familiar, he should know it.

“Easy.” Sam said again. “It’s been three days. You must be thirsty.”

Thirsty. The vessel did seem to be thirsty. Castiel took the bottle slowly. Swallowing hurt…not just on the level of the body, but _hurt_ , and yet, as soon as the water had passed his lips, he craved more of it, swallowing rapidly until the bottle was empty. He held it out, thrusting it back at Sam.

The pain was incredible…the physical echoing the more metaphysical, as if he and his vessel were the same…one being, not two. He gasped when movement sent waves of agony through his body. 

Eventually he realized Sam was talking, telling him about the injuries the vessel had endured…Castiel wanted him to stop. Just stop. He turned away, his eyes closing. No more. No more.

How many times had he said that?

He shuddered. Images flashed through him…emotions, pains, moments of despair, screams…He jumped when Sam’s hand touched him. No more.

NO MORE.

Sam jumped back as if Castiel had screamed it in his face. “Okay, Cas. Okay. Just…I can get you something for the pain….if you want it.”

The pain. That he shouldn’t feel. Not like this. He nodded slowly, grateful when Sam left the room, suddenly able to breathe a little easier.

He still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t just another of Crowley’s tricks…false safety, false comfort only to tear him back into the reality of his fate. 

Crowley.

Castiel lifted the hand not encumbered by the IV to feel along the back of his head, up under the hair. His fingers found the raised flesh easily, tracing over the pattern. He couldn’t suppress the shiver, remembering all too well.

It was the reason he felt the vessel’s pain.

Crowley had sealed him, trapped him inside this flesh. He felt all that the vessel felt because he and his vessel were nearly one. It bound him, cut him off from much of his former existence, stole his powers.

He was nearly mortal. 

He laid down slowly, curling in on himself. He was removed from heaven, from home. Possibly never to return.

Something hot and wet slid from his eyes and into the pillow. He was barely aware of the door opening and Sam returning. He did something with the IV and withdrew again. Castiel could feel the drug…the oblivion it offered as it fingered its way into him.

Not for the first time since this began, Castiel surrendered to the dark.

 

Sam ran a shaking hand over his face before he opened the door, stepping out of the stairway into the kitchen. 

"How is he?" Dean asked from the stove without looking up.

"He woke up." Sam said. He could still feel the force with which Castiel had shoved him away, even if the angel didn't ever touch him. "He…I got him to drink some water. I think I made him understand he was safe."

Dean brought the pot of soup he'd been heating to the table, pouring half into a bowl he then nudged toward Sam before he poured the rest into his own bowl. "Did he say anything?"

Dean looked up when Sam didn't immediately reply. "Sam?"

Sam shook his head, remembering the very clear words, "No more," that Castiel didn't actually say out loud. Somehow he was sure Dean wasn't going to like that.

"He…not really." He sat, lifting his spoon to taste the soup. Old fashioned chicken noodle from a can. Some things never really changed.

"What does that mean?" Dean asked, clearly cranky. "Either he did or he didn't."

"I think his voice is stripped, Dean." Sam said in exasperation. "He didn't say it…but I heard him loud and clear."

Dean was staring at him, Sam could feel it. "What?"

Sam glanced up and shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it. He said 'no more'. I don't think he really understood it or whatever."

"Great, so now your psychic shit is coming back?" Dean pushed his chair back and stood, going to the refrigerator and coming back with a beer. 

"No. It wasn't like that." Sam rubbed at his head. The headache he'd been dealing with since Castiel appeared was back, like a pressure was building.

_Sam._

He looked up, looked at Dean and around the room. Someone had said his name, but it wasn't Dean and Bobby wasn't around. Dean was back to glaring at him. "What is eating you?" Sam asked. "You've been pissy all day."

"I don't like any of this." Dean responded, downing nearly half the beer. "We've been here three days and we don't have a clue—" he stopped when his phone rang, fishing it out of his pocket. "Bobby?" Dean nodded, looking at Sam and then away. "Yeah, okay. Come on back."

He hung up and huffed. "So…Bobby may have found us a lead. Not so much a lead as a set of omens that happened not far from here right after the last time that Cas was here."

Right after they'd found out the angel had been lying to them. "How far away?"

"Couple of towns east. Bobby says that it looks like a portal of some kind was opened."

"Portal to where?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Didn't say. He'll be home in an hour or so."

Sam focused on eating, slurping up the last of the soup and standing. "If you're okay keeping an eye on Castiel, I'm going to get some sleep." He put his bowl in the sink as Dean nodded. He headed to ward the living room and the stairs, but stopped when one of Bobby's bank of phones started ringing.

It wasn't one of the labeled ones, just one of Bobby's old phone lines. He looked at Dean who shrugged and nodded. Sam lifted the handset. "Hello?"

There was a shaky breath on the other end. "Who is this?" Sam asked.

He was ready to hang up when an even shakier voice said his name. "Sam?"

He looked at Dean, his stomach churning, his throat closing off. No. It couldn't be. "Who….who is this?" he managed to force out of his suddenly very dry mouth.

Dean was up out of his chair and Sam could only hold the phone out to him helplessly as his knees gave out and he grabbed at his head. No. No. It wasn't possible. 

_"Pathetic. Not even worth the shit your brother's taking. Dirty, pathetic, evil little cock-sucking whore. I should have let you burn in that crib."_

"Who is this?" Dean was demanding. "I don't know what game you're playing at, you sick freak."

Dean hung up the phone and was squatting next to Sam. "Hey."

"No." He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled up tight, hoping somehow that the defensive posture would be enough. But with his eyes closed, his father's voice just boomed through his head, too real, too close, denigrating him, humiliating him. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. Just like the voice on the phone. "Dean…" He reached blindly for his brother. "Dad…Dad…"

Dean's hand was cool against his face. "It wasn't him Sam. Just somebody's idea of a sick joke."

Sam nodded. "Need aspirin, sleep."

"Yeah, okay. Let's get you up off the floor." Dean helped him up and to the stairs. "Go on up, I'll bring you something."

Sam climbed the stairs, keeping his eyes focused on each step. He was shaking, inside and out. His head felt like his brain was pushing to escape his skull, and his whole body felt tight, constraining…suffocating. 

Dean bounded up the stairs behind him, pushing something into his hand. Sam didn't look, just tossed the pills in dry and swallowing. "Something…Dad…Dad was there." Sam said as Dean guided him to the bed.

"Where?" Dean asked as Sam sat. He knelt to help take Sam's shoes off, which only irritated Sam.

"I'm not a baby." Sam pushed him away and kicked off his shoes.

"Where, Sam?" Dean asked again.

"What?" Sam couldn't follow the conversation, there was too much noise in his head…roaring…like a fire that would consume him. "Dad." Sam blinked up at Dean. "In the cage."

But he couldn't know that. Those memories were locked away. It was an illusion. A reaction to Castiel and the voice on the phone and the lack of sleep. Though, that wasn't really true. Sam was sleeping. He slept a lot actually.

It just never really felt like he did.


	2. Chapter 2

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down one more fucking time, Bobby." Dean yelled, pulling a hand through his hair and pacing furiously over creaking floorboards in Bobby's study.

"Don't bite my head off, I'm trying to help here."

"Sam…He's remembering shit. I know he is." Dean stopped pacing and shook his head. "He has nightmares. He doesn't remember them when he wakes up, but I hear them." Dean shuddered and went to pour himself a drink.

Listening to Sam suffer in his sleep had been getting harder. Dean's own dreams tended to follow the dark down into memories he tried to keep buried. And the way he hit the floor, the headaches…"You didn't see him." Dean had drugged him, given him percocet instead of aspirin when he asked for it. Anything to block up the cracks in the wall.

"Who do you think it was on the phone?" Bobby asked, and for the moment Dean was grateful for the change of subject.

"I don't know. If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was Dad."

"Recording?"

Dean slammed back the whiskey in his glass and poured more. "Hell if I know. I mean, we've seen supernatural shit that can mimic voices." He huffed and went back to pacing. "Maybe it's Crowley playing fucking games with us."

"Don't actually seem his style." Bobby said, snagging the bottle Dean had poured from and pouring his own.

Dean had to agree, actually. "So tell me about these omens."

"Not a lot to tell. Some livestock with their eyes burned out, a large amount of sulfur turning up in the water supply, and a sink hole the size of a buick."

"But you said something about a portal." Dean insisted.

Bobby shrugged and sipped at his whiskey. "I didn't. A friend of mine did. He's been studying the signs. A lot of similarities to the devil's gate being opened, to what happened when Castiel pulled your ass out of hell."

"So something crawled out of hell?"

Bobby nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so."

Dean swallowed down his whiskey and put the glass down. "Great. Just what we need."

"Thing is, that was months ago, and there's been nothing since."

Months ago. When he and Castiel had fought over what he was planning. When he had begged Castiel to find another way. When Castiel had fallen off the face of the planet. "What if…" He shook his head. "So…what if Castiel…went down there after someone or something."

"What?"

Dean went back to pacing, scratching at his head as the thoughts formed. "What if he went down there to pull someone or something out, but got…trapped…that would explain how he got in this condition."

"But what? Who?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. You got any better ideas?"

"No. I guess not."

"I'm going to go down and check on Castiel. Start checking the area around that town your friend lives in."

"What am I looking for?"

"I don't know. Just look for odd stuff….people appearing or disappearing, stuff like that."

He left Bobby scratching his head. He was tired. Bone-weary…he couldn't remember where he'd heard the word, but it was accurate. It was never enough. They had been fighting their whole lives, but it was never enough.

He opened the door to the panic room. Castiel appeared to be sleeping again, though somehow it seemed a more natural sleep. That was something at least.

Dean snorted at the thought. Right. In the grand scheme of things it was nothing. For all he knew, Castiel might never recover. For all he knew, he wasn't even Castiel anymore.

He scrubbed over his face and started pacing around the room. It seemed like lately all he did was pace. And worry. And drink. But then again, when you've managed to avert one apocalypse only to find yourself facing another, and your brother's soul had to be retrieved from the cage where he was a plaything for Lucifer, and oh, by the way it was Death that did the retrieving and shoving of that soul back inside with a warning that the memories could destroy him…and you find out someone you thought of as a brother had betrayed you and is trying to open the gates of purgatory with your old friend Crowley who just happens to be the current reigning king of hell…well…really, what else was there to do?

A part of him wanted to say "fuck you" to everything and drink himself into oblivion. Not that the drinking helped necessarily. In the beginning it helped take the edge off, blurred the memory of what he'd been through, what he'd done.

And if he's honest with himself, that's the part that's eating at him now, the things he did in hell…because he sees the marks of those kinds of things on Castiel, he hears the sound of them in Sam's voice at night. It whispers him that he's not so different from Crowley or Lucifer in the end…that he should surrender to it, to the pleasure of it.

His hand clenched around the memory of a weapon in his hand and Dean realized that he'd stopped moving, savoring something he detested. He pushed the thought away and turned, startled to see that Castiel was awake.

"D-Dean?" Castiel rasped out with a voice that was barely a whisper. His eyes were wide and blue and afraid. It was enough to jerk Dean back into the moment.

Dean moved slowly squatting down beside the cot. “Yes, it’s me.” Castiel’s hand grabbed his with a surprisingly strong grip.

“Is this real?”

Dean inhaled, looking him in the eye and nodding. “Yes. I swear to you. This is real. I’m real.”

Those blue eyes closed and Dean watched as he swallowed. A tear escaped down his cheek. It left Dean feeling helpless. “Where?” Castiel asked when his eyes opened again.

“Bobby’s. Panic room.” Dean responded.

“How?”

Dean looked away, but didn’t try to take his hand away from Castiel, who was clinging to it as if it was the only thing holding him in place. “Not really sure. Balthazar showed up, left you with us. He hasn’t answered our calls though, and Sam said he looked like shit.”

Castiel gripped his hand tighter. “Balthazar came for me?”

Dean lifted his free hand, brushing hair off of Castiel’s forehead, though it was more a comforting gesture than anything. He didn’t know what to say, or if anything he said would matter. “You’re safe now.”

Castiel seemed to be drifting back to sleep, but suddenly stiffened. “Crowley.”

Dean closed his eyes. Son of a bitch. 

“He will come looking for me.”

“Maybe, but he’ll have to come through us first. Me and Sam and Bobby.”

“I am afraid, Dean.”

The words were barely audible and tiny and Castiel was already slipping back into the sleep of the badly injured…but they cut into Dean, tore a hole in his stomach and crawled inside him. “I know Cas.” Dean whispered into their joined hands as a tear fell. “I know.”

 

“The good news is I found replacement glass for you.” Bobby was telling Dean as Sam came downstairs. “We should have it in a couple days.”

“Hey sleeping beauty.” Dean was concerned, but flippant as Sam joined him on the couch. “How you feeling?”

“Hungover.” Sam responded. He rubbed at his temples. His head didn’t seem to hurt like before, but it was tender…like it would start pounding if he moved wrong. “You drugged me.”

Dean didn’t deny it, just shrugged minutely. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

Bobby snorted. “Almost two days.”

Sam frowned at him. “No, really.”

“He’s serious, sunshine. Almost two days.” Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. “And I did not drug you that much.”

Sam had woken only a few minutes before coming down the stairs. He knew he had slept hard, there had been dreams, but they slipped away from him as soon as his eyes were open. “I must have been tired.” Sam said finally. “How is Cas?”

Dean inhaled and nodded. “Awake more often, but…”

“Has he said anything?”

“Not much. It was Crowley. Something about being…trapped….it didn’t make much sense.”

“Balthazar?” Sam asked, not really expecting much.

“No show.” Bobby replied.

“So where does that leave us?” Sam asked as Dean got up and went to Bobby's desk.

“Well, Bobby might have found us something. There were reports of a few disturbances near where the omens were. Police picked up a suspicious person right after the whole thing probably went down, so I figure I should go out and have look around, maybe see if I can get any details."

"I can come with you." Sam said, thinking that maybe he needed something to do to keep him occupied, anything to keep his mind away from the wall that held him safe.

Dean shook his head. "No, I need you here, keeping an eye on Castiel. And researching."

Sam could feel himself frowning again. "Researching what, Dean? We're flying blind here. Castiel doesn't need me."

"We have to find out why he can't heal himself, for starters." Dean said, huffing at him. "And Bobby's got some stuff on the local history, maybe you can dig up a reason that Cas chose that spot to start his three-hour tour of hell."

Sam stood, expressing his frustration with his own huff. "That's busy work. I need something to do Dean."

"It's important. I won't be gone long." Dean obviously wasn't interested in listening though. He grabbed at his jacket. "Make sure he eats something," he said to Bobby as he headed for the door.

"What am I, five?" Sam asked once the door was shut.

"He's worried." Bobby said, coming around the desk to lean against it, arms crossed, looking at Sam like he was, in fact, five and in trouble with daddy. "Fact is, so am I."

He wanted to say that he was okay, but somehow he was sure Bobby wasn't going to buy it. "Okay," he said instead, sitting back uncomfortably on the old beat up couch. "I get that. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried too. But…sitting around here isn't going to help."

"And being out there is?" Bobby asked.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"Why don't you tell me what you do know?"

Sam thought about that for a minute. "All right. I know that I'm dreaming. A lot. Sometimes I'm not even sure I'm asleep when I do it."

"What kind of dreams?"

Sam stood, his skin crawling with the emotion even if he couldn't conjure the images. "Whatever they are, they're terrifying….I can hear myself screaming…I wake up dry and my throat all scratchy…sweaty and shaking…but I can't remember them…and after a few minutes they fade."

He rubbed his hands over his arms, suddenly cold, though it had little to do with the temperature in the room. "And I hear his voice." He stopped in his tracks, turning to face Bobby. He wasn't sure why he'd said that.

"Who's voice?"

Sam shook his head. "I…I don't know. I just…" Something was eluding him. He could feel it and he wanted to reach for it…to grab it and haul it in so he could see it and understand it. "Right before Castiel showed up, I could have sworn I heard someone say my name…and again right before the phone call that sounded like Dad."

_"Dirty, pathetic, evil little cock-sucking whore. I should have let you burn in that crib."_

Sam closed his eyes and moved away from Bobby. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't his father.

"Sam?"

He blinked and looked back at Bobby. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself. "What if I can't….can't keep the wall from cracking?" He was starting to worry that no matter what he did, those memories were going to come roaring out and cripple him.

"You know what Dean told you." Bobby's voice was filled with concern. "You were down there more than a year, Sam."

He swallowed and nodded. He knew that. Logically anyway. He knew what Death had told Dean. He couldn't let himself keep dwelling on it. He offered a tight smile to Bobby. "So, where do we start this research?"

If he couldn't be out with Dean, he could at least keep his hands and mind busy.

 

Dean adjusted his tie as he got out of the car in front of the hospital. He hadn't gotten a whole lot of information out of the local sheriff, only that the man had been found naked, wandering, apparently lost, confused and disoriented, and that when questioned, his answers had made little sense.

It was when the sheriff mentioned demons in the man's rambling that Dean really thought he might be exactly what Dean was looking for. Which brought him here.

The man had been admitted to the psych ward, almost three months ago. He headed into the hospital and followed the signs up to the ward, smiling at the nurse at the front desk. He flashed his fake FBI badge. "Hi, I'm agent Plant, FBI. You had a patient come in here about two and a half, three months ago. A John Doe. He was delusional and talking about demons?"

She raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Yes, we did. He's still here, actually."

That sort of surprised Dean. "Good. I'd like to talk to him, if I could."

"What's this about?"

"Well, we think he may have been a witness to something." Dean answered. "I need to find out if he saw, what he saw." Not his best work, he had to admit.

"I'll need to clear it with his doctor."

"Of course."

Dean paced the hallway while she spoke on the phone, turning when someone approached him. 

"Agent Plant, I presume." She was a pretty woman, dark auburn hair pulled back, glasses. She pulled a hand out of her lab coat pocket and offered it to him.

Dean shook the hand with a smile. "Yes, and you are?"

"Dr. Emily Miles. I understand you're interested in John."

He nodded. "What can you tell me about him?"

"When he came to us, he was pretty torn up, physically as well as mentally. It was fairly clear he'd been through an ordeal. Whatever ordeal that was, he has it hidden under layers of delusions."

Dean nodded. "Demons, Sheriff Lodge told me."

She pointed down the hall and together they started walking. "I have tried a number of things to get through the delusions, but the story he tells remains the same."

"And that story is?" They were stopped beside a door. She put both hands in her pockets and looked him in the eye.

"He claims that he was dead and in hell. He said that he escaped once, but couldn't find his way back to his body or into heaven and he slowly got sucked back down into hell. He hid from demons and ran through various levels or places until someone came to pull him out."

Dean inhaled. "Quite a story."

"Very detailed, and his nightmares are horrific. Whatever actually happened to him, it was pretty severe. Yet, his memory of before he supposedly died is shattered, he can't remember his name or where he lived, says he has kids, but…we let him try calling a few phone numbers he remembered, but…nothing."

"So, can I see him?"

"I don't know what you expect to get from him, but yes. Keep it short. Don't upset him."

"I'll do my best."

He had no idea what he would find when he opened that door, but he opened it, stepping in and shutting it behind him. 

The man standing at the window was tall, nearly as tall as Sam. His back was to Dean, his body slouched as he leaned on the glass. His scrubs were loose on him, his dark hair shot through with gray.

Dean cleared his throat and the man turned. Dean blinked and stepped back unconsciously, into the door. “D-dad?”

The man standing there in pale blue hospital scrubs was the spitting image of John Winchester, minus some body weight. He blinked at Dean blankly, then slowly recognition formed in his eyes. A smile started. “You…I know you.”

Dean’s hand fumbled with the door handle and as soon as he got it turned, he was out in the hallway, gulping in air. The _thing_ that had crawled out of hell was John Winchester. He took a deep breath and stepped back into the room. “I…ah….sorry about that.” He looked his father over. He’d lost weight, and he seemed skittish, the slow smile gone, his eyes dark with suspicion and fear. “I…” 

What do you say to the father who died to save you, who went to hell so that you could live to keep on fighting? 

He was clearly struggling to remember something as Dean took a few steps closer. “D-Dean. Right?”

Tears burned in the corner of his eyes and Dean’s throat closed off as he nodded. He wanted to hold it all together, he wanted to keep himself walled up…but all of the shit he’d been burying was rising up inside him, all of the times he’d wished for exactly this, the exhaustion of the never ending battle…”Dad.” Dean wrapped his arms around him and held on, barely breathing in fear that if he moved it would all prove to be an illusion.

Then John’s arms circled around him, pulled him in close and Dean could exhale. After a long moment, Dean pulled back reluctantly. “How…I mean…give me a minute.” He wiped his face, guiding his father to the two hard plastic chairs in the corner of the room. “Tell me what happened?”

John was still looking at Dean with a sense of wonder on his face. “I was beginning to wonder if you were even real.”

“Oh, I’m real. Just tell me what you remember.”

John nodded, rubbing a hand over his clean shaven face. “I was dead.” He glanced at Dean, probably to see if he was going to believe him. “I was in hell. They…it was…” 

Dean touched his hand. “It’s okay. I know. Skip to the part where you got out.”

He shifted in his seat, but looked a little more comfortable. “Not sure how, but suddenly there was a way…and I got out. I wasn’t alone, other things got out too. And…you were there. You and Sam.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, we were.”

“We killed a demon.” John said, squinting as if he was trying to make the details clear. “I couldn’t stay there though…and I tried to find out where I was supposed to be…but I kept running into demons that tried to take me back to the pit, back to the torture.” He ran his hands down his thighs, then stood. “Then there was a demon…said he needed me and he could make it so I could come back…to you. And then I was stuck in this place that was all black…until suddenly there was light and someone grabbing me, shoving me…he said he was there to save me, and we started to leave, but hell hounds showed up and demons….and there was a fight, then he shoved me out.” John leaned on the window again, looking out into the late afternoon. 

“At first I didn’t think it was real, but then people started to notice me…and I know I was talking crazy. I hadn’t spoke actual words in so long.” He shook his head. “Eventually, I ended up here.” 

“Castiel.” Dean said, standing himself now. “At least that makes more sense. And I’m betting the demon was Crowley, but I don’t get why he needed you.”

And, it was obvious that what he was getting was the short version. There was more to it, even if his father didn’t remember everything. But the immediate need now was to get them out of the hospital. 

“Do they have you on any meds?” Dean asked, crossing to the door to check the hallway. They had a clear shot to the back stairwell if they moved fast.

“Sedatives at night, to help me sleep.”

Dean nodded. He could handle that. Bobby had a decent stash. “Nothing else that we’d have to wean you off of?”

“No.”

“You got shoes?” Dean glanced at his bare feet, then back up to his face.

John seemed to not be sure why Dean was asking, but he shook his head slowly. “Slippers.”

“It’ll have to do. Put them on, we’re blowing out of here.”

 

Sam looked up as Bobby came to the table with a cup of broth. “You wanna take this down, or should I?”

He closed the book he was looking through and stood, stretching before taking the cup. “I will. I could use the break.”

Sam opened the door and descended the stairs. Castiel was huddled on the far side of the room, lifting his head as Sam stepped inside. His eyes were red and swollen like he’d been crying, but he had moved, which was more than he’d done since they’d found him.

“I brought you some soup. Bobby thinks you should eat something.” He stopped a few feet from the door, not sure Castiel was ready for Sam to be looming over him.

He inched slowly up the wall, his eyes on Sam. Once he was upright, Castiel limped toward him slowly.

“Thank you.” His voice was better, more solid. He kept the cot between them and reach for the cup. Sam held it out for him and stepped back once Castiel had taken it.

“How are you feeling?”

“As though this body has been tortured.” Castiel replied, his eyes averted.

“Judging from the look we got, I’d say that’s accurate.” Sam said. “Can you…tell me anything? We’re looking for a way to help you—“

“You can not help me.” Castiel said, cutting him off. “I am…broken.”

His hand slid up to his neck, rubbing at the back of his head. Sam frowned. There was a pattern to the movement. “What is it?” Sam asked, moving closer.

Castiel turned away from him and Sam caught a glimpse of something in his hair. “Cas?”

His eyes were on the floor. “It is shameful. I am unclean.”

_”Dirty, filthy, floor-licking, unclean dog.”_

Sam swallowed and pushed the thought away. “May I…may I see it?” Sam asked gently. 

Castiel didn’t say no and didn’t lift a hand or move away as Sam approached. Sam ran his fingers through his hair, surprised to find a patch that was bald, and covered by longer hair from above. The skin there was raised, as if the sigil had been burned into the flesh. It was Enochian, Sam thought, though he wasn’t entirely sure. 

Castiel turned toward him, his forehead brushing Sam’s shoulder. He was trembling and Sam rescued the mug of soup just before Castiel would have dropped it. Castiel's hands fisted in Sam's shirt and hot tears made the fabric wet.

He sank slowly and Sam followed, until they were both on the floor. "Here…" Sam put the mug down and pushed it away, adjusting himself until he was sitting on the floor with Castiel awkwardly clutching to him, his ass on the floor between Sam's legs, his legs over Sam's leg, his face still buried in Sam's chest.

Sam didn't know what else to do but hold him while he cried silently. His shoulders shook and Sam lifted a hand to gentle caress a small circle on the angel's back. 

"He did this to me." Castiel said softly without looking up. "He tarnished me."

His words stirred images in Sam's head, images that he didn't want there. "You're safe now." Sam responded, just as softly. "We'll keep you safe."

"I am unclean." Castiel said again. "He marked me." He lifted his head, his blue eyes startling amid the red skin around them. "They…I was…was an angel of the Lord…and they…desecrated me."

He lowered his head back onto Sam's chest. Sam kept rubbing, fairly sure it wasn't much help, but he was completely at a loss. Eventually the trembling lessened and Castiel was leaning more heavily into him, making Sam think he had fallen asleep. 

He knew he should move them, get Cas up on the cot and himself up off the floor, but for the moment he was content to offer the angel the small comfort of his arms. Sam closed his own eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. 

 

Dean had them stopped on the side of the road between towns and he was staring at his phone, trying to figure out how in the hell he was going to tell Sam and Bobby that John Winchester was alive.

His father was standing in the grass in his bare feet, his face turned up to the evening sky as the sun set.

"I forgot how good it feels." John said, glancing at Dean.

"Yeah, it's fucking great." Dean responded, shaking his head. He lifted the phone, but before he could dial he felt _something_ and turned. 

"Hello, Dean." 

Ice water flowed through his veins and he had to force himself not to throw a punch. "Crowley."

"I see you got my little…present." He waved his hand at John who was lunging at him now.

Dean caught him and pushed him back. "Dad, don't."

"That's the bastard that—"

"Temper, temper, John. " Crowley said, lifting a hand. John went still, grabbing at his throat.

"Crowley." Dean growled.

Crowley shook his head and rolled his eyes and let his father go. "You have something that belongs to me. I want it back."

Dean frowned at him.

"Not him, you can have him. He was never much fun, even when old Alistair had him on the rack. Not my type. Too stoic. Doesn't scream enough." He shuddered mockingly. "You have my angel. I want him back."

"He's not yours." Dean argued, wishing he had a gun or something in his hand. It wouldn't kill Crowley, but it might piss him off some. 

"Oh, but he is. I had my way with him Dean…you know, the way Alistair had his way with you? Fucked him inside and out, body and soul, mind and spirit. Marked him up and made him my bitch for the rest of eternity. Says so, right here." Crowley made a circling motion with a finger pointed at the back of his own head. "He squeals and screams and begs so pretty. You'd like the way he goes all still and quiet just before the knife slices into him…the way he bucks as my hell hounds fuck him…and his blood….mmmm…tasty."

Dean swallowed hard and took a step back. "You are one sick fuck. Go crawl back into your pit."

"No can do, Dean. Not without my toy. Give him back."

"No."

Crowley stepped closer, his feet crunching gravel. "I know you have him all holed up in that room at Bobby's….I know that's where Sam is. Give me Castiel or I'll let others in on that little secret."

"What others?" Dean quipped. "Is that the best you've got? Dad, get in the car." Dean turned to go to the driver's seat.

"What if I told you that a certain angel turned devil has slipped his cage and is looking for his lost vessel?"

Dean stopped. "What? Nice try. Lucifer is caged."

"Wrong. Raphael figured out a way to get them out. Thought he'd re-start the apocalypse. Only problem is, Michael and Lucifer have been down there for what…a little over a year, give or take…that's a hundred and twenty years in hell. In that cage, it's more like two hundred and fifty. They've already beat the shit out of each other a couple hundred times. They could care less what Raphael wants."

"What are you saying?" Dean growled at him.

"Lucifer is free and without a meat suit. My money is on him looking up your brother sometime very soon, seeing as Sammy's already said yes once. Won't even need permission."

Dean had the phone up and the number dialed even before he was in the car. Crowley was laughing, but Dean barely checked to make sure his father was back in the car before he peeled out. "Damnit Bobby, pick up the damn—Bobby, we got trouble. Crowley knows where we are and Raphael apparently let Michael and Lucifer out of the cage."

Dean dropped the phone and pressed the gas peddle to the floor. As long as Cas was in the panic room, Crowley couldn't get to him, but Lucifer…he was an angel, not a demon.

"Let's hope he does it right this time." Dean murmured. Beside him his father was pale, holding on to the seat as Dean raced toward Bobby's place. "It's gonna be okay, Dad. I…just…stay with me."

 

_"There's my pretty boy." Hands pet over him, possessively, mimicking gentle caresses, but each pass is harder than the last and fingers catch on open wounds, dragging them open. The air is thick and stinks of sex and sweat and blood. "Come on Sam."_

_He shakes his head no, struggles to keep his eyes closed. He isn't supposed to see…isn't supposed to know._

_Something rubs against his lips, demanding, pressing…He jerks away, curls into a ball. No. No. No. He holds onto the word. That one word gives him power. He keeps his eyes closed and whispers it over and over._

_"Let me in, Sam." He feels it now on his ass, the same thick, hard probing, pressing and he rolls away._

_No. No. No._

_A face fills his mind, even though he hasn't opened his eyes. His own face, twisted into a mockery of concern. "You know it's where I belong. We are one, Sam."_

 

 

Castiel woke, still in Sam's lap, his fingers still curled in the fabric of his t-shirt. He moved slowly, crawling away until he could get to the cot and pull himself up. This body was still in pain, though it lessened each time he woke. It was cold too, he recognized the sensation, shivering almost as an afterthought.

Soon he would have to stop thinking of the body as separate. Jimmy was gone, had been a long time, and the seal Crowley had forced on him would see Castiel firmly kept inside until the body gave out.

He couldn't help the way his fingers moved to touch it. It was an abomination. His brethren would disown him and his father would cast him aside. It had not been done in a millennium. It was such a defilement that even demons would not bring themselves to attempt it.

Sam was dreaming, Castiel could almost feel the anguish. He pulled away. He didn't want to feel that. 

Behind him the door opened. Castiel stood, despite the pain in his knee and foot, turning to find Bobby in the doorway. He smelled of fear, and adrenaline. "Crowley…" Castiel murmured, stepping back until the workbench was at his back.

"Not yet." Bobby countered, holding up a knife and cutting his palm. "We have bigger fish to fry." He nodded toward Sam. "Lucifer's loose and coming for him."

"No!" Sam jerked awake, the yell echoing around the panic room. 

Castiel pressed himself against the bench as Bobby stood in the door, blood dripping from his hand. Bobby used the blood to draw sigils on the door…sigils that would keep angels out. He looked to Castiel when he was done, looking with expectation. 

Castiel inched forward, squinting at them. The sigils on the door were perfect this time. Once Bobby closed that door, Castiel would be trapped inside that room until someone opened the door again.

But it would also mean no other angels would be able to open it, and Sam would be safe. Sam was climbing to his feet.

"What's going on?"

"I don't have time to explain." Bobby said, clenching his wounded hand. He leaned out the door and pushed in a couple of bags. "Dean's on his way. Told me to keep you both in here."

Bobby stepped out, pulling the door closed. Castiel listened to the locks, his eyes closing. They were trapped. He turned away from Sam, his stomach twisting. 

"Cas?" Sam's voice wavered. 

"This room is very small." Castiel said after a long time, fighting to get enough air into his lungs.

"It's okay." Sam said, though he didn't sound very sure of himself. "We'll be okay." He was nodding when Castiel turned to look at him. "We just need to….breathe and not panic."

It was fairly clear, even to Castiel in the state he was in, that Sam was bordering on panic himself. "I've spent a lot of time in this room." Sam mused, starting a slow circuit. "A lot of time."

"Bobby is afraid." Castiel said when the silence had gotten long and uncomfortable. Sam only nodded in response, still walking in a slow pace around the room. "He said Lucifer is coming."

Sam stopped walking, his arms crossing over his stomach. His eyes closed and he turned his head, as if listening to something Castiel couldn't here. "I know he is." Sam said slowly. "He wants me. He wants to be inside me."

Castiel shuddered, Sam's tone striking some chord inside him that made his body suddenly run cold. "Sam." Castiel wanted him to stop, but Sam wasn't really listening to him.

"He's been in my dreams…he whispers my name." Sam was leaning on the wall, his head back, his eyes closed. "He touches the wall and I see things, feel things…"

Castiel limped across the room. "He hurt you." Castiel whispers, the echo of his own ordeal so close and fresh he isn't sure where his own pain ends and Sam's begins.

Sam whimpered a little, sliding down the wall. "He…the things I see in my dreams…can't be real. They're too horrible." He seemed to huddle in on himself, suddenly seeming smaller and younger. 

Castiel moved to sit beside him, shifting until he found a position that didn't send waves of pain through his body. "You must not let him in." Memory filled him, the body of his vessel violated, the tearing of skin and the thrusting of cock into him. He pushed the memory away. "You must fight him."

Sam lowered his head onto his knees, looking at Castiel through tear filled eyes. "I don't know if I'm strong enough." 

Castiel understood that all too well. He too laid his head on his own knees, looking at Sam. "You must be."

Sam blinked and tears spilled over his nose. Castiel blinked and felt the wetness of his own. 

"My father…" Sam swallowed, his eyes closing. "The words he says in my head…I know…I know it isn't him, wasn't him…but I can hear them and they aren't wrong. I am sick, twisted…I let Ruby use me, I became a monster…I…I said yes."

Pain and anguish radiated off of Sam, amplifying Castiel's own misery. He lifted a hand to brush through Sam's hair. It felt strange, but he had seen humans make the gesture often, and he had to admit when Dean had done it to him it had brought a measure of comfort.

"You stopped Lucifer when you said yes." He knew as arguments went it was not the strongest, for Lucifer would never have been free if Sam hadn't let him out in the first place, but at the moment, it was all he had.

Sam sniffed and rubbed away the tears. Castiel felt like he should say more, but he didn't know what there was to say. His hand fell to his side and let the silence fill the space between them.

 

Dean threw up a dust cloud as he slammed on the breaks and threw the car in park, already out of the car before his father had even opened the door. The skies were already dark, but he could feel the gathering storm coming, far more than just the clouds and threatening rain.

He had no idea what he was going to do about any of it. He just knew he needed to get his father inside, make sure Sam and Castiel were okay, then he would deal with whatever came at them.

Bobby was at the door, shotgun in his hand, but his eyes weren't leaving John's face.

Dean held up his hands. "I know, I know. Gawk later, we got company on our tail."

He pushed past Bobby, then reached back to pull his father into the house. Bobby closed the doors, straightened up the salt line and followed them into the kitchen.

"Castiel and Sam are locked in tight."

"You got it right this time?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Yes, smartass. All the doors and windows are salted, devil's traps in front of as many of them as I could manage."

"Good. It won't keep Lucifer out, but it should hold Crowley and his lot at bay." Dean turned to his father who was still in hospital scrubs and bathrobe. "Dad, go upstairs. My bag is on the bed. Find something to wear."

John looked around the room, then at Dean nodding. He could see memory starting to come back to him. "Okay. But we need to talk."

"And what a fun conversation that will be." Dean grumbled after he had walked away. "How are we set for provisions?" 

Bobby shrugged. "Food and water should hold out a while. Ammunition…depends. Most of it's there on the table."

Dean turned to look, taking stock of the salt rounds and holy water, regular bullets and iron scattershot. They were ready for what was coming as they could be, under the circumstances.

"You gonna explain?"

"Now?" Dean asked.

"We got time." 

Dean shook his head. "I'm not sure I know, honestly. He was what Castiel went to hell after. Crowley had him, was going to use him against us. Now Crowley wants Castiel back instead, and he knows we're here."

The windows darkened and the house shook as thunder echoed around them. The siege had begun.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam sorted through the provisions Bobby had left in the bags. There was enough to last them at least a few days, longer if they were careful. He took a bottle of water to Cas where he was sitting on the cot. "Here. You should drink some."

Castiel took the bottle wordlessly and Sam went back to sorting the granola and energy bars if only for something to do. He had to admit, he felt safer since Bobby had locked them in. Stronger, more himself.

Bobby had told Castiel that Lucifer was loose. It had made sense at the time. It made his dreams make sense. He did everything he could to avoid thinking about hell, the cage, the wall when he was awake…but in his dreams, it was as though it was cracking and things kept leaking out.

Eventually it would break and with it, Sam would tumble into the dark.

He shook his head. He had to stop thinking about it.

"Hungry?" He lifted a granola bar and tossed it to Castiel. At least focusing on Cas kept him occupied, gave him something else to focus on.

"Thank you." Cas said. "I am unaccustomed to needing to care for my vessel."

In the long hours they'd been locked in together, Castiel had given him a little information beyond his initial words about the mark on his head. Sam didn't have all the details, of course, probably wouldn't until Cas was more up to talking, but he had said that it locked him into the body.

Honestly, it had brought up thoughts Sam hadn't had in a while, about Jimmy and his family. He knew Jimmy had not been resident in that body in a long time, he had voluntarily given it up so that Castiel could continue his work, but somehow the idea that Castiel was trapped inside it was uncomfortable to Sam. It reminded him of the sacrifice.

When he'd had Lucifer inside of him, Sam had fought to regain control, but it was like being stuck in cement, trapped helplessly watching his body move without him. He wondered what it would be like to be there like that for years…or if it was the same for Jimmy when Castiel first took his body.

He shook himself out of the thought. He needed to stop. He needed to find something else to think about. "I should…you should let me check your wounds." Sam said finally, taking a long pull from his own bottle of water. "Change bandages. We don't want you getting infections."

He nodded to himself and didn't wait for Castiel to respond, just opened the med kit on the bench, pulling out clean bandages and ointment. Castiel hadn't moved when he turned back around. Sam tried to smile, but he knew it came out strained. He started with the bandages on Castiel's back, since the angel didn't have to take anything off for that. They never had gotten a shirt onto him for some reason.

He tried to be gentle, easing the tape from skin that was not nearly as mottled with color as it had been, the deep blacks easing into lighter purples and blues. The one on top, nearest the shoulder, looked more like it had been torn open by a claw, rather than a whip, but Sam couldn't be sure.

The bandage stuck a little as he pulled it away, the blood dried into it. Castiel hissed as he got it loose and set it aside. The wound was raw and angry looking, crusted over in places with dried blood. 

"I need to clean this one." Sam said softly, going to get the bottle of peroxide he'd left on the work bench. "It might hurt."

It was going to hurt, there was no real help for that. Sam poured peroxide directly on the wound and Castiel jumped forward, pulling away from him. Sam let him, putting the bottle down and picking up some gauze. When Castiel had settled again, Sam wiped at the wound, cleaning off the last of the dirt and the dried blood.

It was oozing blood when he was done, but he was much more satisfied with the cleanliness and he put some of the antibiotic ointment on his finger. "Just a little more, Cas," he murmured before he carefully smeared the ointment over the wound. He laid fresh gauze over it and taped it down. 

He moved down to the lower one that had been dirty when they first found him, but partially healed. It was a neater wound, likely caused by a whip of some kind. It cut across his lower back, over scars of older abuse.

A flash of pain, fleeting and sharp, crashed through him, the bite of hardened leather, the tear of flesh. Sam inhaled and pushed it away. It wasn't real. It wasn't his memory, just imagined torment. 

"This one looks good." Sam said as he set the dirty bandage aside. It was closed up, the scab over it forming nicely. He got it re-bandaged and moved around to the front.

This was one of the ones Dean was worried about. Without getting Castiel into a hospital, they had no way of knowing how deep the damage went. Castiel lifted his arm as Sam bent his head to pick at the tape and begin peeling off the gauze.

The smell was the first thing to tell Sam that there was something wrong. The sickly sweet smell of decaying flesh rose up from the wound as Sam uncovered it. The edges of the still gaping wound were dark, nearly black and a greenish pus oozed from it. Sam pulled back, swallowing hard. The wound started up on Castiel's side, and curved down onto his stomach. 

Sam paced away, gathering the peroxide again and moving back to the med kit. He was going to need to clean it out. His best bet was to thoroughly debride it, but he wasn’t sure he could manage that himself without knocking Castiel out.

But then again, knocking Castiel out would let him look at the wound on the angel's thigh without cause him any more discomfort. 

Sam came back to the cot, squatting in front of him. "Okay, Castiel, I need to clean this out, but it isn't going to be easy and it's going to hurt. I can put the IV back in and give you another shot of stuff to make you sleep while I do it."

Castiel's face tightened and he looked away without answering. Sam sighed, understanding that at least. The drugs were heavy handed and probably made him feel helpless and weak. "Okay, I can give you something lighter, take the edge off the pain."

Castiel still didn't answer. Sam put a hand on his uninjured knee. "I know you don't like them, but I have to get that cleaned, or you are going to get very sick and die."

For a long time Castiel didn't move, and when he did it was to cover Sam's hand with his own. "It was a punishment." He didn't look up, kept his eyes on the cot beside him. "I was praying. Crowley heard me. At first he laughed. Then he demanded that I stop. Then he hit me. Over and over. When I continued, he used a dirty hook to tear me open…let his hell hounds eat what fell out."

Sam didn't know what to say to that, swallowing a lump that had risen to lodge in his throat.

Castiel's eyes lifted to Sam's. "I do not know why I prayed. I already knew God had abandoned me. But it pissed Crowley off, and so I could not stop." He lifted his hand from Sam's and wiped at the tears that had spilled from his eyes. "I will take your pills."

Sam nodded in relief and went to get them. He had a choice of a variety of things, but he chose the higher dose of percocet, bringing it back to Castiel. He took the pills and swallowed them with the last of his water and without prompting laid down on his side, pulling his arm up and out of the way.

Sam let the pills take affect and set up the supplies he would need, thinking again that maybe he should have been pre-med instead pre-law in those long ago days of Stanford.

 

It was hard to tell that it was ten o'clock in the morning, if all you had to go by was the darkness at the windows. So far all the horde of demons had managed to do was rattle the house a little bit, breaking one window that Dean had just finished boarding up.

He came back into the kitchen with a heavy sigh. "That should hold them for a little while. Any sign of anything?"

"Just more of the same." Bobby said, though his eyes were on John.

Dean had to admit, his father looked more like himself now that he was dressed. Bobby had found some of his father's old things in an old trunk and while the jeans were a little loose, the boots and jacket made him more real somehow.

The familiar surroundings had done a fair bit of help too for his memory. He put down the shotgun he'd been loading with rock salt and looked at Dean. 

He'd been avoiding talking to him, because honestly, Dean didn't know what he was going to say, how in the hell he was going to explain to his father everything that had gone down since he'd died.

It was obvious though that his father had questions. "So, Dad…" Dean started, glancing at Bobby, who neatly took the hint and went to check salt lines and the like. "A lot has happened and…I'm not sure where to start."

"Why don't you start with that demon." John said, crossing his arms. "What did he mean when he said that Alistair had his way with you?"

Okay then, right to the heart of it. Dean huffed, scratching at his head as he crossed to the sink. "Well, I…I was in hell. In the pit. On Alistair's rack." Dean said, not looking at his father. Not with the way the admission brought memory swirling into his brain… _stomach spilling out over his legs and feet…bones snapping…_ He shook his head to clear it and focused on the moment. "It's a really long story, but I did it to save Sam."

"You…what?"

It wasn't angry exactly, but Dean felt the disappointment like a blade. "Look, the damn yellow-eyed son-of-a-bitch got Sam killed. I needed him back. I needed to keep my promise, to keep him safe. So I did. I made a deal. I got Sam back. It was worth it." Dean pushed away the nagging voices in his head that laughed at that statement.

"How did you get out?" John asked, his voice dark and quiet.

Dean inhaled sharply. "Castiel." He cleared his throat. "I was pulled out by an angel." An angel who was currently locked up in the panic room under them, who had gone to hell to find his father. "Same one who came to get you when Crowley had you."

Dean exhaled and leaned over the sink to look out the window, even though all he could see was demon black. 

"And Sam?"

That was a loaded question. Dean nodded. "Another long story. You were right about a lot, Dad. And he had…he did some things he ain't proud of, but he made it right in the end." The memory of Sam taking control of his body, of Sam jumping into the gaping hole filled his head. "And it cost him. In a way, it cost him more than you or I could ever understand."

His father snorted and Dean turned. "You make it sound like he had it worse than either of us, and I know what Alistair was capable of…I remember all too well."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, well…Alistair was only a demon. And I was only there forty years. You had…what? A hundred and twenty? Not saying it wasn't…what it was. But Sam defeated Lucifer, by going into hell with him…And he was down there more than a year. Locked in a cage with Lucifer and Michael, whose only entertainment was beating up each other and torturing the souls they dragged in there with them." 

"Souls?"

Dean nodded again, suddenly restless, wanting out of this conversation. "Sam and Adam. Their vessels."

Dean hadn't thought much about Adam, had never asked Castiel what had happened to the youngest Winchester. A part of him didn't want to know.

"Adam?" There was a tremor in his father's voice. "How…"

Dean had forgotten somehow that John never knew they had found out. "Another long story. He and his mother were killed by ghouls. Fuckers nearly took us out. The angels resurrected Adam when I wouldn't consent to being Michael's meat suit for the apocalypse prom."

His father shook his head and sat down heavily. He held up a hand. "I think I'm dizzy."

Dean snorted. "I get that. At least you've only done the dying and resurrection thing twice now."

His father frowned at him. Of course, he wouldn't remember the first time. It had happened before his father had discovered the world of the supernatural. "How many times…"

Dean offered him a tight smile. "Me? Too many to count…there was this…thing with a Trickster who turned out to be an arch-angel in hiding….Sam, well…" Dean tried counting, but gave up after just a few moments. "Let's just say it's been a few times."

They were quiet for a minute. "And where is Sam?" John asked after a while.

"Bobby has a panic room, demon safe, and with a little extra work, protected from angels too. Both Castiel and Sam are down there until we figure out what to do."

And if he was being honest with himself, Dean didn't have a clue.

 

It had been quiet a long time. Sam assumed Castiel had fallen asleep after the painful process of cleaning and re-bandaging the worst of his wounds. Sam sat leaning against the cot, his back to the angel, wondering what was going on upstairs and how long it would be before Bobby or Dean came to fill them in.

There was a time he would have been pacing like a caged animal, but it would serve no purpose and at the moment, he felt peaceful, so he sat. 

"I never set out to lie to you or your brother." Castiel said suddenly into the quiet.

Sam turned his head, surprised to find Castiel's face so close to his. "Cas, you don't—"

"I…thought…I did it to protect you, or to protect myself. I don’t know anymore." His voice is soft, still raspy. "I thought…I was doing the right thing."

Sam licked his lips. "And now?"

"Now I…I have been…humbled." 

Sam looked away from the devastation on Castiel's face. "Cas…we've all…I mean…Dean and I both…we've done things we thought were right only to realize later that we'd been played."

"I prayed for a sign." Castiel whispered. "I prayed to be shown the way and I was given into the hands of Crowley. I was…put down."

Sam wanted to comfort the misery he could feel pouring off the angel. He turned his face again, but Castiel had inched closer and Sam's lips brushed Castiel's lightly when he moved. Castiel's eyes closed and he exhaled, the heat of his breath tickling Sam's lips.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Castiel shifted, bringing their mouths together. Sam froze, uncertain of his intent. Castiel breathed out, his eyes opening. He pulled back, turning his face away. “I am sorry.”

Sam reached a hand out, touching his shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

Castiel was flushed, his skin turning pink as he sat up, shaking his head. His back was to Sam then, his eyes on the door. “I am confused.”

Sam rose up on his knees, caressing over Castiel’s shoulder. “Hey, I said it’s okay.” He moved, sitting on the cot beside Castiel. 

Cas looked at him, his expression something between lost and falling apart. “Why are you kind to me?”

Sam was startled by the question. “What?”

He stood, limping to the door. “I have hurt you. I have lied to you. I have called you an abomination. The trials you have gone through because of me, because of my brothers, you have every right to hate me.”

Sam inhaled. Castiel wasn’t wrong. Sam had every right to hate him and the rest of the angels. “I don’t hate you, Cas.” Sam said, standing.

“Why?” Castiel demanded.

Sam sighed, coming around the cot. Case was still flushed, though Sam wasn’t sure how much was embarrassment and how much was his rising anger. “Because….you…you’re…one of us.” Sam said in response. “You pulled my brother out of hell. You pulled me out.”

“And I was arrogant to try. I failed. And now you are afraid of your own dreams.”

Sam nodded, moving closer. “I’ve been afraid of my dreams a long time Cas. Ever since I dreamed of Jess dying in fire, trapped on the ceiling.” He was close enough now that Castiel backed up into the door. “What are you afraid of?”

“Sam.” Castiel looked spooked. “I should not…we can not…”

“Then why?” Sam asked, one finger rubbing his lips.

Castiel looked him the eye, then looked down. “I…do not know. I was confused.”

“By what?” Sam asked softly, taking away a little more of the space between them. It was obvious that Cas had meant something with the kiss, that he’d been expecting something.

The redness on Castiel’s face deepened. “It’s okay.” Sam whispered.

“When Dean…when he remembers what happened to him in hell and it pains him, he sometimes thinks of kissing you and the pain lessens.” Castiel whispered back, his voice dropping at the end to almost inaudible. Castiel couldn’t have known that Sam knew, that Dean had confessed in a drunken, drugged stupor one night, though he’d tried to take it back and conveniently had no memory of it in the morning.

Sam caught Castiel’s chin with one hand and turned his face up, stepping still closer, until their bodies were brushing. “Sometimes, when he’s dreaming, when the nightmares are the worst and I can’t wake him, I kiss him and whisper to him. I tell him to come back to me.” 

Castiel’s eyes widened and when Sam licked his lips, Castiel mimicked the gesture. He’d never even told Dean that truth, and he’d never thought of Castiel as anything who would need the comfort of a kiss, but there…in that moment, Sam couldn’t deny the desire to ease his pain.

He breathed out and Castiel breathed in, drawing Sam to him. His lips were chapped and dry, and they parted easily when Sam’s tongue moved against them. Sam slipped his tongue into Castiel’s mouth, tasting him. Castiel stiffened at first, then slowly….very slowly, Sam could feel the tension drain and Castiel clung to him, even after Sam had ended the kiss.

Sam opened his mouth to ask if he was okay, but he heard the locks on the door behind Cas and pulled him away instead, just managing to clear away and step a pace back, though Sam kept a hand on the angel’s back to keep him from falling.

Dean looked at them with raised eyebrows. “Am I interrupting something?”

“I was unsteady on my feet.” Castiel said dryly, though his face was still red.

Dean stepped in and pulled the door shut. “I just wanted to check up on the two of you, see if you needed anything.”

“Other than some fresh air…”Sam said.

“We could all use that.” Dean responded. “We’re pretty well socked in for now. How is he?” Dean nodded toward Castiel.

“He is standing right here.” Cas replied for Sam. “And he is fine.”

“Right, which is why you were unsteady enough for Sam to be holding you up.” Dean shook his head and looked to Sam.

“I’m worried about the claw marks. The stomach wound is bad. The thigh is worse.”

“Antibiotics?” 

“Gave him what we have here, but it isn’t much.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, and how are you?”

Sam nodded too. “I’m okay. I won’t lie, up until Bobby put the angel sigil on the door, I was pretty shaky, but I’m better now.”

“Which means Crowley wasn’t lying to us.”

Castiel turned away at the mention of the name, limping to the work bench. “Crowley wants me.” Castiel said.

“Yeah well, Crowley can stuff it. I’m not giving you to him.” Dean tugged a hand through his hair. “You could have told me though.”

“Told you what?” Castiel asked.

“The reason you went down there in the first place.”

Castiel hung his head. “There was no point. I failed.”

“I guess you and I have a different definition of that word.” Dean said, making Castiel turn. 

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked, looking between them.

“Castiel completed the Winchester trifecta, Sammy. He has now successfully pulled all three of us out of hell. Well, more or less successfully.”

Sam frowned at his brother, trying to make sense of what he was saying. 

“Dad is upstairs right now, grilling Bobby on what he missed.”

Sam felt the air leave his lungs as if he’d been gut punched. He staggered backward until he found the cot, and he sat, hard. “Dad? Dad is…”

“John Winchester is alive?” Castiel asked. 

“Yeah, you wanna tell me how? His memory is a little like swiss cheese.” Dean said.

Sam looked at Castiel, watching him go from disbelief to defensive. "Crowley wanted to kill you, both of you." Castiel said. "I forbid it. He sought another way to remove you from our path to Purgatory."

"But Dad got out." Sam said, remembering that very clearly. Their father got out of hell when they opened the devil's gate.

"Dad said that he…got lost." Dean provided, his eyes still on Castiel.

"Without guidance it can be difficult for souls to find their way." Castiel supplied. "Especially after…hell is a disorienting place."

"I remember." Dean snapped. "Get on with it."

"I heard from…a source, that John Winchester had been found, and that Crowley was holding him. I thought that if I freed him, I would bring Crowley's focus back where I wanted it." Castiel shivered.

"Purgatory." Dean wiped his mouth and paced a few steps and back. "I told you before it was a bad idea."

Castiel lifted his eyes to Dean's. "Yes, you did. I thought…I thought it was the only way. I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Yeah, I've heard that before." Dean said.

Sam stood, intercepting his brother's pacing. "That's a little hypocritical coming from either one of us, Dean." 

Dean stopped, looking up at Sam as if to argue before conceding the point. "Okay, I'll give you that one." He looked back at Cas. "So, what happened?"

Castiel licked his lips and crossed his arms, then uncrossed them. "I located where Crowley was keeping him, but as with Sam, I thought more highly of my skills than I should. I did not anticipate that Crowley had laid a trap for me."

"So…Dad was…bait?" Sam asked.

"I had gone to take your father's soul home to heaven, where he could be reunited with your mother to spend eternity in bliss. I was discovered and ambushed. I lost my grip on your father and was yanked back down. I failed."

"Except for how Dad suddenly found himself topside, naked and sporting some serious amnesia."

Dean went back to pacing, but Sam was watching Castiel slowly withdraw again. He crossed to the angel, touching his hand, but Castiel pulled away.

"Let me go." Castiel said, pushing past Sam.

"What?" Sam reached for him, but Castiel grabbed Dean and shoved him toward the door.

"Let me out and I will leave." 

Sam pulled him back. "You're being ridiculous."

"Crowley's out there." Dean growled at him. "He's got us surrounded. No one leaves."

"If I go, he will leave you alone. You can be free of this."

Dean snorted and shook his head. "Right, because it's that easy. Crowley wants you for a reason, Cas. You are not going out there."

Castiel turned away from Dean, leaning into Sam. "Please, let me put this right." Castiel whispered. Sam shook his head, but drew Castiel closer.

"No, I think Dean is right." Sam glared at his brother over Castiel's shoulder. "You need to stay here, where we can keep you safe."

Castiel sort of laughed, an odd sound that seemed more of a bark.

"Crowley wants Castiel because he thinks Castiel is the key to Purgatory."

They all turned to find the door to the panic room open and a rather rough looking Balthazar on the other side beside Bobby. 

"Well, it's about fucking time." Dean said loudly, making Castiel jump. 

"I would have come sooner if I could." Balthazar responded quietly. "And I can't stay long. I've got…I'm being followed." 

Sam tried to move closer, but Castiel wasn't budging and it sort of kept him from moving. "The basics of the situation is this, Raphael figured out a way to open the cage and let Michael and Lucifer out. In return, Michael killed Raphael. Everything is chaos. Lucifer is looking for Sam. Crowley is running from Lucifer, and looking for Castiel."

Balthazar looked like he was ready to pass out. "He needs into Purgatory if he stands a chance of going toe to toe with Lucifer." He waved his hand at Dean. You need to lead this party out of here. You're sitting ducks."

"You wanna clear us a path?" Dean asked with a snort. "In case you hadn't noticed, we're kind of under siege."

"It's only going to get worse. As soon as Lucifer finds himself a ride, what you've got now will look like a picnic at the beach."

"This just gets better and better." Dean growled.

Balthazar offered a weary smile. "I did bring you a spot of good news." He cracked his neck and reached into the very tattered remains of his coat. He withdrew a sword, the same quicksilver shine as the blade he'd seen Castiel wield, only longer, the end barbed.

Balthazar handed the blade to Bobby. "See if you can't stick it to Lucifer this time, eh boys?"

There was an odd popping sound, and the familiar rustling of unseen wings, and Balthazar was gone. 

"I thought only an angel can kill an angel." Bobby said.

"We still have an angel." Dean replied, gesturing at Castiel who still hadn't moved.

"I am unclean." Castiel whispered, though Sam was the only one who heard it.

"Dean! You better get up here!"

Sam watched Dean's eyes close, his mouth tighten. His brother was strung pretty tight, and stuck down here, Sam was no help to him. Dean held his hand out the door to Bobby, who gave him the sword, then Dean turned to Sam, holding it out to him.

"You keep him here. I'll go see what new hell we have to deal with."

The door closed behind him and Castiel sank slowly to the floor, leaving Sam standing there, staring at the door with a sword fit for killing archangels in his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean stormed up the stairs to see what it was his father was yelling about. It was obvious almost immediately. The black siege that had trapped them for the last forty eight hours had withdrawn some.

Outside the windows he could see people moving through the dark haze.

"They started showing up right after you went downstairs." John said as Dean joined him near the front door. "The first couple threw themselves at the windows, but they've fallen back now."

Dean nodded, watching them mill about listlessly. "Eventually they'll start throwing themselves at us, hoping to break through somewhere."

"Sounds like you've been through this before." John said.

Dean looked at him. "Unfortunately, more than once." He huffed and turned to Bobby. "Check the back, make sure we don't have any weak spots."

"So what is our plan here?"

His father was sounding more like himself and Dean wasn't really sure if that was a good thing or not. "Well, I figure we're stuck dealing with Crowley for now. He's predictable to a degree. We know what he wants and why."

"Right, the angel."

Dean nodded. "See, when Sam sent Lucifer back into his cage, and we had killed most of the other high level demons, Crowley stepped in to take over hell. But now that Lucifer is back on the loose, Crowley doesn't want to relinquish the title."

John frowned at him. "How does the angel help him?"

"Not sure he can, but Crowley seems to think he can. He thinks Castiel has the key to opening a door into Purgatory."

"We're set, all the traps are intact." Bobby said coming back.

Dean nodded. Balthazar wasn’t entirely wrong, of course. They would be better getting the hell out, but he couldn’t see a clean way of doing that. Not without sacrificing Castiel…and while Dean was still angry with the bastard for the lying and spying, there was no way he was going to turn him over for what would likely be even worse torture than Castiel had already been through.

And it was clear Castiel had been through a lot. Three months he’d been gone. Maybe more. Nearly as long as Dean had been in the pit. He swallowed at the rising bile, memory spilling out of the dark place he’d kept it hidden. 

_Screams tear from his throat as nails rake over his skin, carving into flesh and muscle, peeling it back from the bone. Fingers of flame curl around his cock, licking at his balls as something large fucks into his ass and his face is torn open by tiny teeth…_

“Dean.” Bobby’s voice cracks through the memory and Dean exhales, nodding shakily. His hand snakes to his back pocket, pulling the flask out and tipping it into his mouth.

The burn is almost enough to anchor him, to hold him to the moment. 

“So, we have the sword that can kill Lucifer.” Bobby said. “How does that help us?”

Dean stuck the flask back in his pocket and shook his head. “Unless we also have Lucifer, in a physical body, it doesn’t.”

“You gotta figure he’s going to find someone, like last time, if he can’t find Sam.”

“I’m not sure I understand this whole angel thing.” John said. “What does Lucifer need with Sam?”

Dean sighed. “Sam is his vessel. It has something to do with bloodlines. I don’t know that I’ve ever gotten the whole story, but I’m Michael’s vessel…or I was until they went and resurrected Adam, and you were before me. I guess that means…Sam gets it from Mom’s side? I don’t know.” 

He collapsed into the chair and rubbed over his face. “He can occupy other bodies, if they agree, but they won’t hold him forever….not like Sam can.”

“And since Sam already said yes once, Lucifer can just climb back inside him?” John asked.

“Not sure, but I don’t really want to take a chance." Dean replied. "We're flying a little more blind than usual here." 

"So they possess you, like demons do?" His father was frowning, looking intently at Dean.

"Something like, yeah."

"So…Castiel…the guy downstairs with Sam…"

"He's inside a guy named Jimmy, only…Jimmy left a while ago. Now it's just Castiel in there." Dean said. He hadn't given it much thought in a long time. "And before you let it get under your skin, angel's have to get permission. Jimmy chose to let Castiel in, even when he knew it would be a permanent thing."

John nodded slowly, clearly processing the information. "And Castiel is the one who pulled me out of hell?"

He sighed and looked up at his father. "According to Castiel, his intention when he found out Crowley had you was to pull you out and take you upstairs. He didn't even know you'd gotten out. Which doesn't help us, but I don't think we need to worry about anyone laying claim to you. Alistair is dead, Lilith is dead, that yellow-eyed son of a bitch is dead."

John actually smiled then. "I can see you've been busy."

Dean chuckled darkly. "You could say that. It's been a hell of a couple of years Dad."

"Not to interrupt the memory lane visit," Bobby said. "We do have a little demon problem to deal with."

Dean stood and crossed to the window. "Any ideas here?"

"Balthazar was right, even with the angel wards and devil's traps, we might as well have a target painted on us." Bobby said, crossing his arms. "I have an idea that should get us to the cars, but doesn't help us know where we're going."

"Away." Dean said. He didn't like running away from things. He didn't mind running, but he was happier when the target was ahead of him, not on his back. "Until we can figure out a plan of attack."

"Is that wise?" John asked, clearly uneasy. "We are safe here, to a degree."

"Until they wear us down." Bobby answered, crossing to his desk. "And they will."

As if on cue, one of the demon possessed outside threw themselves at a window. The glass broke and it got part way inside before the salt started to burn. Bobby grabbed it and hauled it into the devil's trap at the base of the window, already chanting the Latin required to release the demon.

A few minutes later, the black inky smoke raced back out the window, screaming. Bobby stood back and looked at Dean. "You take Sam and Castiel. I'll take your father."

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay." He pulled his father away from the window. "You should see Sam. Before we leave. Just…don't pick a fight."

He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but Dean just held up a finger and shook his head. "You good for a few, Bobby?"

"Yeah, just make it fast."

 

Castiel had stopped shaking, but he was still upset, still leaning into Sam. They had withdrawn to the back of the room, away from the door. Sam sat with his back against the wall. Castiel was beside him, though his back was to Sam, his head on Sam's shoulder.

Sam's hand was around Castiel's waist, mostly for a lack of anywhere else to put it that wasn't awkward or painful. Castiel held the upper part of Sam's arm as though it were a safety line, something to keep him from floating away. The grip was too tight, and he was going to leave bruises, but Sam didn't have it in him to tell Castiel to let go.

The sword lay on the cot, shining like some promise. Promises made Sam worry. They had thought they could kill Lucifer before. The colt hadn't even made a dent. They had thought they could cage him. And now he was free again.

He sighed and tried to imagine a scenario that wouldn't end up with all of them dead. Or worse.

The problem was, the only way the sword did them any good was if Lucifer was inside a body, and Castiel was together enough to use it…before Lucifer stopped him.

And so far, Sam could think of only one way for that to happen.

The door to the panic room opened again. Castiel whimpered and turned his face further. "Shh." Sam whispered, easing his arm free and getting up. He swallowed a lump of emotion as his father filled the doorway. "Dad."

There was a moment's hesitation, then Sam was around the cot and pulling his father into a hug. His eyes closed as his father's arms wrapped around him. "Sam."

Eventually, Sam knew, he was going to have to let go…but for the moment he clung to his father, hiding in the moment, pretending he was twelve again and just having his father there was enough to make everything okay.

John patted his back and Sam took the cue, sniffling a little and stepping back. "Damn, it's good to see you." Sam said.

"You're looking a little rough around the edges there, Sammy." 

Sam looked his father over. He was smaller somehow than Sam remembered, thinner and paler. “You too.”

“A couple of tours of hell will take it out of you.” John replied, though he smiled a little. His eyes darted to Castiel, then back. “Something I hear we have in common.”

Sam shrugged a little. “Winchester family tradition, I guess. Goes right up there with sacrificing ourselves and making deals with demons. And apparently resurrection.”

“So I hear.” John moved away, circling the room, his eyes scanning the workmanship Bobby had put into it. “It’s funny, the things I remember and what I don’t.” He shook his head. “I remember the feeling of your mother’s lips on mine, the sound you made when you were hungry as a baby, the time Dean broke his leg in Des Moines. I remember arguing with you about Stanford.”

Sam could feel his eyes, but couldn’t seem to look up. This was where his father would tell him what a disappointment he was, how he’d tarnished the family name. Tears burned in the corner of his eyes. “Dad, I—“

“I remember how damn proud I was, but for the life of me I can’t remember why I couldn’t tell you that. Too damn stubborn I guess.”

Sam looked up, the tear falling in his surprise. “You…what?”

John shook his head. “I remember how proud I was of you right before I died too. You…I don’t really remember all the details…but you saved your brother and me…you…I didn’t tell you then either. I was too busy buying you and Dean time.”

Sam’s stomach twisted and he shook his head, turning away from his father. “For all the good it did. I…became a monster.” He didn’t deserve his father’s pride. 

_”Dirty, filthy blood-sucking freak.”_ The words cut into him, even though he knew they weren’t really coming from his father. Sam held his stomach and moved away. 

“Sam?”

“No.” He closed his eyes, trying to push the thought away. _"You know you deserve this, Sammy. You were made for this. You were born for this._

"Dean…." Sam staggered toward the open door of the room, even though his brother's name was barely above a whisper. "Dean…" Something inside him was breaking…he could feel it. "Dean!"

Sam's knees gave and he crashed to the floor, clutching at his chest. His lungs were screaming for air that he couldn't seem to get into them. He flailed as hands grabbed at him, unable to tell the real ones from the memories spilling into his head…suffocating him, pressing into him, bleeding him.

_"That's it Sammy…let me in…I'm coming for you….just let it all out…remember everything we did together…"_

"Sam!"

A wall slammed up suddenly and air rushed into him. Sam gasped, his eyes opening. He half expected to find Lucifer staring down at him instead of Dean and his father. "Dean?" Sam struggled to sit up, grabbing at Dean's hand. "What happened?"

Dean pulled him up to his feet, shaking his head. "I don't know. You tell me."

"We were….just talking." Sam said. "And…I heard…in my head, it was…like in my dreams…D-dad's voice…only it wasn't him…and the wall sort of…cracked…I couldn't breathe, and Lucifer was…" He looked up at Dean. "He's close. He's got to be close."

"Okay, calm down." Dean pressed his lips together and shook his head. "It's better now though?"

Sam looked at the closed door and nodded. "Yeah. He's gone again."

"Shit." Dean paced, scratching at the back of his head. "There goes that plan. If he's close enough that it only takes opening that door, we'll never get you out of here and behind another set of sigils fast enough."

"I only left the door open a few minutes." John said, frowning. 

"It's not your fault." Dean said. "We just need a different plan." He looked Sam over. "You sure you're okay?"

Sam was still shaky, but he nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay, stay here. I'll be back when I've figured out what we're going to do."

 

 

"What does he mean, my voice?" John asked as he followed Dean up the stairs.

Dean wasn't answering though, he was too busy cursing under his breath. "Dean."

John grabbed his shoulder once they were in the kitchen, turning him around. "What did he mean?"

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. "Look…just…he knows it wasn't you, the same way I know it wasn't you. But…Lucifer in particular liked to borrow the faces and voices of people to torment him. He did it in his dreams before Sam said yes. I can only imagine he did it once they were in the cage."

John shuddered and turned away. Alistair had tried that only once, coming to him as Mary. John had ignored him more than usual and he'd abandoned the attempt in favor of more physical methods of torture that made him scream until his throat collapsed.

He was struggling to catch up on three years of time he'd missed, fighting to remember beyond the bits and pieces of memory of his life before hell. The angel bit had surprised him, but then…he'd never seen any signs of them before being hauled up out of a dungeon in hell by one.

Not that he was much to look at now, all huddled in on himself in the basement. John had tasted the kind of punishment Crowley could dish out though, and that was just to amuse himself. He'd had nothing against John. From the look of it, whatever was between the demon and the angel, it was personal.

"I've got the sprinklers ready to go." Bobby said, coming in from the other room, wiping his hands on an already dirty rag.

"We have a problem." Dean said. "Dad left the door open only for a minute and Sam was already losing it. Lucifer is picking at the wall. If it comes down…"

"We'll lose Sam." Bobby finished for him.

John held up a hand. "I'm still not sure I understand what's going on with Sam."

Dean sighed and turned to him. "Castiel pulled him out of the cage almost right after he went in, only…what he got was Sam minus his soul. Sam's soul was down there in that cage for over a year with Michael and Lucifer who had nothing to do but fight each other and torment Sam. And Adam, I assume."

John frowned at him. He remembered Adam, of course. The son he'd had long after Mary died, the one the boys never knew about. Apparently they'd found out. "And where is Adam?" John asked.

Dean dragged a hand over his face. "I…don't know. Castiel never said whether he pulled him out too. I do know he was in heaven before they resurrected him."

That was small comfort now. 

"Well, I'm fresh out of new ideas." Bobby said. "Those demons out there are getting antsy. They're going to come at us full tilt soon."

"Maybe I'm still not following all of this." John interrupted. "But those demons work for Crowley, right?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, and?"

"And Lucifer wants to kill Crowley." John added, thinking. He stroked at the shadow of a beard just starting to grow back in. "What happens if we get Castiel out of the panic room to lure Crowley here…then bring Sam out of the panic room to lure Lucifer. While they're fighting, we slip out the back."

Dean was already shaking his head, but Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Might work."

"Might." Dean echoed. "And if it doesn't? I'm not ready to just offer Castiel up to Crowley, and I sure as hell don't want to lose Sam again."

“Might be the only way we all get out of here.” Bobby said, crossing his arms. 

“Might also just get Sam and Castiel taken and us left with nothing.” Dean said, shaking his head. “There has to be another way.”

John wanted to tell him to stop being obstinate, but he stepped back instead. Dean knew more about this situation than he did. Tactically though, John was pretty sure that it would be the only way they stood a chance at all. Sam clearly needed Lucifer to be distracted when they moved.

 

Castiel watched Sam pace the room, from the door to the wall, then around the cot, stopping at the work bench. He was agitated, and by more than just the visit with his father or the pain inflicted by the memories he wasn’t supposed to remember.

Slowly, Castiel pulled himself up to standing. “You are upset.”

Sam offered him a tight smile. “Yeah, sorry.”

Castiel frowned at him, not sure why he was apologizing. “Your brother will not risk you falling to Lucifer again.”

“I know.” Sam responded, turning his back to the bench and leaning against it. He sighed and Castiel couldn’t figure out the look on his face. “But he’s right, we need to move. If we just sit here, one side of the other is going to find a way in.”

Castiel turned to look at the sword lying on the cot. It was likely the only chance of ending Lucifer’s claim to Sam’s body. He crossed to the cot, running a reverent hand over the hilt. He wasn’t even positive he could wield it now, but he knew they were counting on him to try.

“Lucifer must be within his vessel for this sword to be effective.” Castiel said softly.

“I know.” Sam came to stand beside him. “Can you do it?”

There was more to the question than the simple words. Castiel looked him in the eye. “Can you?”

“I did it before.” Sam’s voice was barely a whisper. Surely he couldn’t be thinking what Castiel imagined he was thinking. Sam looked away and inhaled deeply. “You and me, Cas?”

“You and me?” Castiel repeated, his voice sounding grave and gravely even to his own ears.

Sam’s lips quirked up in a smile and he turned, pulling Castiel close. His lips brushed over Castiel’s and after a slight hesitation, his tongue slipped over Castiel’s lips. It was oddly comforting. Sam ended the kiss softly, his breath ghosting over Castiel’s face. “If I go out there, he will come.”

“If he comes, you will be lost.”

Sam shook his head lightly. “No, you’ll find me.” He lifted the sword and pressed it into Castiel’s hand. “You’ll find me and you’ll do what no one else can.”

A chill swept through him as he understood what Sam was asking of him. “You will die.”

Sam’s smile was wry. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I….I can not.” Castiel thrust the sword back at him and pulled away.

“You and I both know it’s the only way.” Sam said, following him.

"You will die." Castiel repeated. 

"Cas, since when has that **ever** stopped a Winchester from doing what had to be done?"

He had a point. "It is different now." Castiel couldn't articulate the difference. It had something to do with what Crowley had done to him, and something to do with the emotions that his human vessel was experiencing. He inhaled and amended the thought. It was no longer his vessel that was experiencing it. He had to accept that this was all him.

"How?" Sam asked softly.

Sam was so close it wouldn't take much to touch him. To kiss him again. There was a part of him that wanted to do that. Desperately. To make the words stop. To make him realize that everything had changed…even though the part of Castiel that was still holding on to his angelic nature knew that wasn't true. Castiel had changed. The situation remained.

"I'm different now." Castiel finally murmured, his words slipping over Sam's mouth. 

"Cas…" Sam put his hands on Castiel's shoulders and held him back when Castiel would have buried his face in Sam's shoulder. "I know, okay? But….we have to consider everyone else. We have to think of Dean and Bobby and Dad…and the rest of the world."

"Why?" Castiel said suddenly, feeling a streak of fiery anger well up inside him. "Why, Sam? Why you? Why us?" His stomach filled with fury and he wanted to scream until the building collapsed around them. "When is it enough? When?"

His voice echoed around them, bouncing off the walls.

Sam waited until it was quiet again. He shook his head slowly. "Maybe it never is. Maybe…maybe this is what we were made to do."

Castiel swallowed the self-loathing. "Or maybe we do nothing…and the world just goes on without us."

"You don't believe—"

"No?" Castiel snatched the sword back away from Sam. "Maybe if you're so keen to die again, Samuel Winchester, I should just do it now, before Lucifer can find you." He pointed the sword at Sam, but Sam didn't seem afraid. In fact, he looked sad.

"He would only resurrect me when he found me. You know that."

He was right, of course. Castiel took a step back and lifted the blade so that the sharp edge rested against his neck. "Perhaps then I am the one who should die."

"You don't mean that." Sam stepped in close, his hand over Castiel's on the blade. Slowly, Sam pulled the sword down and away, lifting his free hand to cup Castiel's face. "I know what I'm asking you to do. I know that you're feeling vulnerable and that you feel like I'm abandoning you if I do this. I remember how it felt when it was Dean asking me to stay behind and live my life while he went to hell. I remember being the one asking Dean to let me stay in hell, to go live his life." Sam's kiss was gentle. Castiel wanted him to stay, to keep kissing him like that. 

"I'm going to open that door, and I'm going to go upstairs." Sam whispered. "I'm hoping you'll follow me with this sword ready. I'm hoping I can make it hard enough for Lucifer that he doesn't see you coming until you've got this sword shoved into us both."

His lips brushed over Castiel's once more and then he was gone, across the room, the door thrown open…and panic seized Castiel's stomach as Sam's footsteps disappeared up the stairs.

 

"It's not happening." Dean said again, wondering when Bobby had lost his hearing. "Next suggestion."

"There is no other suggestion." Bobby responded. "Unless we just sit here and wait for the house to fall down around our ears."

"I have a suggestion."

Dean turned as Sam joined them. "Sam! What the fuck are you doing?"

Sam sort of shrugged, though he was pale and obviously shaking. "What has to be done." Sam responded, keeping his distance and circling away when Dean tried to crowd him back toward the basement.

"No. No. You don't get to do this." Dean said. 

Sam shook his head. "It's my decision Dean."

"What do you think you're doing?" their father asked, moving to trap Sam between him and Dean.

Sam licked his lips. He was sweating. "We have one shot. I'm taking it."

The lights started to flicker and the windows rattled.

"Sam, get back downstairs."

"No. He's here." Sam was starting to hyperventilate. "Fuck. Fuck." He looked scared when he looked up at Dean. 

"Dad, grab him." Dean said, closing in on Sam himself.

"Too late." Sam whispered as he crashed to his knees. He screamed, grabbing at his head as he fell to his side, curling up defensively.

"Hello Dean." 

Dean jumped, at the sound of the voice, whipping his head around as Lucifer joined them in the body of a boy barely old enough to be able to consent. Dean threw himself at the boy, but the light was already leaking out of him.

"Cover your eyes!" Dean yelled to his father as Lucifer left his imperfect vessel. "Sam! Fight him!"

The light covered Sam's convulsing body, and sank into him.

"Sam! Damnit!" Dean launched himself at his brother as the light faded, rolling him over, but it was too late.

The expression on Sam's face wasn't him. "I said, hello Dean."

Dean was shoved back and Lucifer stood inside Sam's body, cracking his neck. "Sam's a little busy cowering under a landslide of memories right now."

Dean picked himself up, moving away from Sam and toward his father, who was looking like he was going to make a charge. "Dad." Dean grabbed his arm, shaking his head. 

Lucifer looked at John then, grinning broadly. "John Winchester. What a pleasure. I've had a good time pretending to be you in the past. Used your face to make Sammy go all little boy. Used your dick to make him a whore."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean couldn't hold him and his father threw himself at Sam, only to be flung backward into the wall.

"Yeah, I played her too. Cut Sammy up while smiling out of her face. You should have heard him." He shook Sam's head and rolled his eyes. "Now then, I would love to stay and tell you all about it, but there's an imposter attempting to remake hell in his image, and I really should see about skinning him alive and pouring acid into what's left."

Dean saw Castiel a split second before Lucifer did, the sword slicing the air. Before it could reach it's mark though, Lucifer moved, suddenly behind Castiel, holding his neck in one hand, his wrist in the other. 

Castiel looked to Dean, panicked as Lucifer squeezed his wrist and forced him to drop the sword. "Now, now, little brother, that doesn't belong to you."

Lucifer backed away, keeping Castiel close to him. "Oh, Sammy…naughty boy…I think maybe we'll keep you, little one….say goodbye to your friends."

With the familiar faded flutter of wings they couldn't see, Sam and Castiel were gone.

"Fuck!" Dean grabbed the nearest chair and threw it across the room. It shattered against the wall with a satisfying sound, but it wasn't enough. He grabbed the plates still on the table and flung those, then he shoved the table itself, shattering the window behind it.

Outside, the demons were leaving, the dark clouds lifting. Their prey was gone. They had no reason to stay.

Dean had somehow managed to lose both his brother and Castiel…and he had no clue how to begin looking for them.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel quivered against Sam's bigger body. _Not Sam_

He wasn’t sure where they were, and the room was dark. The hand on his shoulder held him effortlessly, moved him unerringly until a room started to become visible.

It wasn't what he expected.

Sam's hand moved away from him as soon as they stopped moving and the room was solid around them. "I hope you don't mind the honeymoon suite, I thought it appropriate."

 _Not Sam._ "Where?"

He blinked into the still too bright around the edges face that was now more Lucifer than Sam.

"Does it matter?"

Castiel dropped his gaze, shook his head. Of course it didn't. He had failed. Again.

The world would come to an end and the blame landed solely on his shoulders. All his arrogance, all his manipulation…and when it mattered, he couldn't deliver on a simple promise.

Fingers closed on his chin, tilted his face up. "He doesn't blame you, Cas. He knows it was too much to ask of you. This is his fault, not yours."

He shook his head, pulling away. "No. I don't believe that."

"He has always expected too much of you."

Castiel tried to block out the words, the grace they offered. Sam had only asked one thing of him, and he hadn't been able to give it.

Lucifer's hands were on him again, gentle and soft. It was a lie, and he knew it, but Castiel’s eyes were closed and he still hurt in ways he didn’t understand. “I can make it better, Castiel…heal you…make you whole again.”

The first touch of his lips made Castiel stiffen, but the kiss was soft, Sam’s tongue sliding over his , tender and if he kept his eyes closed, if he didn’t think too hard, he could pretend it was the same as it had been there in that basement.

Castiel was being guided back, toward the large bed. Sam’s hands slid down over his body, sliding into the sweats he’d worn since the Winchesters had found him, dressed him. His hand was cool as it circled around him, tugging on his cock lightly.

“That’s it, just let go.” He was falling, clutching at the hand that held him until the bed rose up to cradle him. The comfort didn’t last as Sam’s body followed, covering him, guiding him up onto the bed, rolling him over. Big hands soothed over his back and down, and he was suddenly aware that the meager shelter of the borrowed sweat pants was gone, and those hand were sweeping over his cheeks, opening him.

Castiel whined and tried to move away, but Sam’s voice was soft in his ear, murmuring to him that he was safe, that he was loved, the all he need do is let go, let him in…and it wasn’t Sam. He knew it wasn’t Sam, but it wasn’t Crowley either…it wasn’t violence and struggle and pain, and almost before he was fully cognizant of it, Sam’s cock was easing inside of him on a slip of lube that he never saw.

Memory burned inside him, claws and blades and cocks as big as fists inside him. He shook his head against it. This was not the same. Only it was. This wasn’t Sam comforting him, this wasn’t anything but a parody of affection, of love. Lucifer controlled Sam’s body, and the way it moved inside of him, the way Sam’s hand circled Castiel’s hard cock and stroked it, and to his burning shame, Castiel was coming into the sheets beneath him.

Lucifer continued fucking him, slow almost lazy, his fingers caressing through the sweat building up on Castiel’s body. When at long last, Sam’s cock flooded his ass with heat, Castiel was spent, nearly asleep. Lucifer kissed over him as he pulled out, down Castiel’s back and over his ass, rolling him onto his back. “Sleep, little brother…we have all the time in the world.”

 

"We don't have time—"

"Dean—"

"No. We have to find them."

His father shoved him down into the chair. "We are not running out there without a little more thinking and a whole hell of a lot more explaining what the fuck just happened."

Dean fumed, but tried to reign in the fear that was fueling his rage. "What just happened? Your fucking son just fucking sacrificed himself. Again." Dean closed his eyes and willed the sight away, Sam's face as Lucifer looked out at Dean. The last time he'd seen it, Lucifer had beat the living shit out of him before Sam somehow wrested control back. "And if we don't find him…" Dean shook his head. He really didn't know what was going to happen now.

If Crowley was to be believed, and Dean wasn't kidding himself there, Lucifer was more interested in Crowley and hell than fighting Michael….and they'd already averted the apocalypse…so everything from here was off script.

"We have no idea where he would go, Dean." Bobby said. "And we know full well that he can go anywhere he wants."

"Damnit Bobby."

His father shoved a cup of coffee at him and Dean took it, swallowing the need to run headlong out the door and into whatever was out there.

"We know he wants Crowley, and he took Castiel, probably as bait." John said, pacing the kitchen now. 

Dean licked his lips and looked away. It wasn't bait. Dean knew that look, knew from the look on Castiel's face that he knew too. The demons had learned how to fuck their victims over from a master. Wherever they were, Lucifer was likely tormenting Cas in any number of ways, from simple torture to playing with his head to literally fucking him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering how Castiel looked when they'd first found him, what that meant he had been through…and Dean had promised himself he would keep the angel safe…though at this point he doubted he should even be surprised that he couldn't keep yet another promise.

He exhaled and pushed the paralyzing self-doubt away, cradling the coffee cup to him and breathing deep of the smell. "Okay. We know that Sam beat him once, we have to assume Sam is fighting him now." He didn't want to think about the alternative, that Lucifer had torn down the memory wall and Sam was lost inside himself.

"What does that tell us?" John asked, his eyes narrowing. 

In the hours since Lucifer had taken Castiel away, his father had started to be more like his old self. Dean could almost see him compartmentalizing, shoving the shit he couldn't deal with behind walls and boarding them up until he was left with the bare bones of who John Winchester had been and the incoming information he needed to function.

Dean sipped at the coffee. "Well, the last time…" He swallowed and pushed the memory back. "…it took him some time to get a grip on him, but he there were little moments when it seemed more like Sam than Lucifer. We can hope he breaks free enough to give us a clue."

"I don't like sitting around." John grumbled.

Dean snorted. "No, really, Dad?" He put his coffee down on the table that wasn't quite right since he'd thrown it and pulled both hands up over his face and through his short hair. "I need some air." He stood and headed for the door. 

"You sure that's wise? Crowley—"

"Crowley took off the minute Lucifer showed up. Any of his cronies hanging around…" Dean pulled Ruby's knife from the sheath on his hip and twirled it. "…let 'em come at me." 

He left his father and Bobby in the kitchen and headed out to where his car waited him. Some part of him wanted to just get in it and find Sam. Not that he knew where to look, but somehow something inside him believed that together they could find him. 

The sun was setting, shadows stretching out around him. He sat on the hood of the Impala and tried to clear his head. He stretched and laid back, letting the warm metal under his body soak into him.

"You look tired, Dean."

His hand tightened on the hilt of the knife, but otherwise he didn't move. "Might be because I am." Dean answered.

"We've never actually met." 

"I'm going to guess you're Michael." Dean turned his head, looking over the body Michael wore. The man was old, probably into his seventies, and even though Michael stood tall, Dean imagined on his own he was pretty stooped over. "Unless you're here to tell me how to find Sam and Castiel, I'm not interested."

"Your brother is as good as gone, Dean. His soul is ravaged, and Lucifer will have torn down any defenses he might have had to protect him. He won't be coming back."

Michael had moved close, his hand lifting to caress the side of Dean's face. "Castiel, on the other hand…we might still save him."

Dean closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear that…not any of it. "You have always underestimated us." Dean said, sitting up now, pulling away from the hand that reached for him. "You can go to hell."

Michael laughed, nodding. "I've been there. No intention of going back."

"No, you'll just slaughter half of heaven to get what you want." Dean slid off the car and turned to look at him. "I meant what I said, unless you're here to give me directions to my brother and Castiel, I'm not interested."

"I would have thought you'd be pleased that I killed Raphael. He didn't like you Winchesters very much."

A slow rage began to burn inside him and Dean took a step toward the archangel. “I don’t know if you noticed while you were up there killing your brothers, but things haven’t been going too damn well. You’ve got angels killing angels and angels working with demons and demons trying to break into purgatory, the dead are alive and the rest of us are dying, my brother has been stolen by Lucifer and I’m pretty certain that he’s torturing my friend, but you want me to be happy because you killed your brother?”

“Dean?” 

He didn’t look away, even as his father came closer. He didn’t want Michael fluttering away now that he was good and angry. 

Michael however turned his attention to the elder Winchester. “I see what you mean about the dead walking the earth. I was unaware you’d been resurrected, John.”

“Who the fuck are you?” John asked and Dean snorted.

“Dad, this is Michael.”

He could feel his father bristle. “You’re one of the assholes jerking my boys around.”

“I would watch your tone.” Michael drew himself up, sneering at the both of them. 

Dean turned his back to Michael, grabbing his father’s arm to pull him away.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

Dean stopped. “You going to tell me how to find Sam?”

“I could.”

He huffed and looked back. “Let me know when you decide you will. Until then, get lost.”

He started back toward the house, not looking back even as Michael’s wings fluttered him away.

 

_Blood covers him, his flesh raw, his skin shredded…he shivers, pulled inside himself, eyes closed…the air is super-charged and hot, burning his lungs as he gasps and chokes…trembles and waits for the torment to begin anew…but something is different now…quiet settles…_

Sam opened his eyes, half expecting to find his skin ripped open and blood smeared over his flesh.

Instead he was in a soft bed, in a large hotel room, a warm body spooned up to him. He breathed in carefully, afraid to move. The warm body moved, whimpered. Castiel. Sam was suddenly aware of the nakedness, both his own and Castiel’s, and the fact that his cock was trapped between the ass cheeks of the angel.

Lucifer had used him to rape Castiel. Sam’s stomach lurched and he pulled away, sitting up and pulling the sheet with him to cover himself. Castiel groaned behind him, rolling onto his back. “Cas?” Sam said softly, not turning to look.

He felt the bed shift, Castiel moving. “Where are we?”

“Sam?” Castiel’s hand touched him and Sam stood. He nodded tightly.

“For the moment.” Lucifer seemed to be gone, but so was the wall of memory…images spilled freely through his brain and any minute it was going to be too much. “You need to call Dean. Tell him where you are. You need to run.”

“I don’t know…” Castiel was up now too, his nakedness seeming to be unnoticed. He came close, looking like he wanted to touch Sam…kiss him even. 

“Did I…” Sam shook his head. It was a stupid question. It was obvious he had. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Castiel shook his head. “You did not. Even Lucifer was gentle.”

As if the sound of his name had awakened him, Sam could suddenly feel Lucifer inside him. “Cas, now. Call Dean. I can’t hold him for long.” Sam moved to the phone on the desk, dialing Dean’s number, thrusting the phone at Castiel and moving to find something to tell him where they were. He pulled a pad of hotel stationary out and dropped it on the desk before memory stabbed through him….blades cutting into him, shoving into his ass like a cock, ripping him open…

He could hear Cas talking as he doubled over, the memory stirring up as Lucifer’s presence rose within him. “Run, Cas!” Sam gasped out, shoving the angel toward the door. He was losing the fight to stay in control, vomiting as the pain crescendoed.

“No, stay, Cas.” Lucifer said, taking the phone out of Castiel’s hand and hanging it up. “I’m not done showing you how much I love you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean stared at his phone.

"Dean?"

He looked up, blinking. "Area code 716."

"What?" Bobby frowned at him.

"Where is it?"

"New York, I think." Bobby said, sitting down at the computer. 

"Find me this." Dean thrust the phone at him, the number still showing.

"Who was it?"

Dean put the phone on the desk next to Bobby and paced away. "Castiel…and I think Sam was in the background, at least at first. He said something about a hotel." Dean paced while Bobby looked the number up.

"The Oakes Hotel, Niagra Falls, New York." Bobby said.

Dean snatched the phone up, already half way to the door before Bobby caught him. "Where you going?"

Dean pulled his arm away with a growl. "Niagra Falls, apparently."

"Wait."

"No." He was done with waiting. It was the first clue they'd had since Sam and Castiel had disappeared. 

"Your father—"

"Isn't up for this." Dean pulled the door open and headed for the car with Bobby right behind him. 

"And you think you are?"

He stopped and turned to face Bobby. "Someone has to be. And that's my brother out there. My brother and my friend."

"Not too long ago you were just about done with both of them."

"I'm going."

"Just wait. A few minutes. An hour. Give us an hour to get ready."

Dean shook his head. "Do what you have to, but I'm going now."

He climbed into the car and closed the door, bringing the engine to life and roaring out of the yard. He could see his father joining Bobby in the rearview mirror, but he didn't stop. 

He had a long drive and he couldn't wait, not now that he had a clue, some idea…and yeah, Lucifer could move them…take them anywhere he wanted to really…but somehow Dean thought he wouldn't.

In fact…it was probably a trap.

Which, okay was something he should have thought about before throwing himself headlong away from the only support he had left, but damnit, he couldn't sit in the house one more day, one more minute. At least driving he was moving and he had time to think of a plan.

He snorted and stepped on the gas. Right. Because planning against Lucifer had worked out so very well in the past. At least they had the sword.

_Fuck._

He'd left so fast he didn't think to grab it.

He exhaled. Bobby and his father would be behind him. They would bring it. 

It would be fine. He just had to get there. Right now that was all that mattered.

 

Castiel woke to low voices and rolled slowly to his side, peering through the open door of the bedroom into the sitting room of the suite. He could see Sam _not Sam_ , dressed and sitting in the chair, hands folded neatly on the top knee of his crossed legs. 

At least that meant Castiel was alone…or at least more alone than he'd been in a while. He hissed a little as he moved against the dirty sheets. He was healing, of course, but each time Lucifer…Castiel shuddered at the thought of the things Lucifer had made him do.

It was so much worse than Crowley somehow, though the violence had been replaced with feigned intimacy, the nails and claws with gentle caresses, the lewd commentary with soft whispers of professed love that some part of him wanted to believe.

Not Lucifer. He wasn't that fallen to think that somehow Lucifer cared for him. No. He was lost, soiled, perhaps broken, but he knew better than to believe anything Lucifer did or spoke.

But Sam…Castiel slid toward the side of the bed, moving slowly, his eyes on Lucifer through the door. If he could just get to the side closest to the bathroom, Lucifer would not be able to see him. 

It was a false sense of security, to be certain, but it was all he had left. He moved stiffly, still favoring the bad knee, his back stiff and sore. He eased into the bathroom, pulling the door shut as quietly as he could.

Sam was his friend. Castiel had forgotten that before, had seen Sam's deeds rather than his heart. But Sam had redeemed himself in the end, had conquered Lucifer, if only for the last few minutes…enough to send Lucifer into the cage, no matter the price.

And Sam had been kind to him, despite his failures, which Castiel now understood were many. So some small part of him wanted to believe that Sam could be in there, doing what he could to let Castiel know…

He sighed and stepped into the spacious shower stall. The water was soothing and he turned the heat up, until the water turned the skin of his body red. He turned his face into the spray, letting it wash away the evidence of his tears and wishing it could burn away the shame with it.

Sam had kissed him. In the panic room at Bobby's. If he closed his eyes he could almost remember what it felt like.

Then the door was sliding open and Sam's body was against his and Sam's voice was in his ear. Castiel kept his eyes closed as Sam's hands caressed over his skin, over his hips, pulling him back against a strong body. He let himself forget, let himself pretend, as Sam's mouth sought his, turning his body around…as strong hands lifted him.

Sam's penis penetrated him and Castiel's eyes squeezed more tightly shut, his hands rising to wide shoulders to support him. His back was against the shower wall and Sam's body was tight to his, pulsing inside him. His mouth opened under Sam's tongue, letting him in, giving in to the silent demands for surrender, for submission.

When it was over and Sam had come inside him, eased him back down to his feet, Castiel stood still under the water while Lucifer washed him, and went willingly when he was led from the shower. Lucifer dried him and brought him back to the bedroom.

The bed was clean and made and a tray sat on the end of it. "I had some food brought up. Come, eat."

Castiel followed him to the bed, surrendering the towel without fighting and climbing under the sheets and blankets naked. Lucifer brought the tray closer, pulling the silver cover from the plate. "I hope you like turkey."

Castiel looked at the plate, but the thought of eating was odd. "You need your strength. You're still healing."

"I should not need to take sustenance." Castiel said, his voice sounding flat and odd to his ears. 

Lucifer cupped a hand to his face. "If you were not broken, you would not need it. But here you sit, unable to even leave this mortal body, this shell." His hand caressed along his face, around his neck, his fingers pressing against the seal that bound him. "You have been bound, brother. Sullied by that fucking low bellied son of a hell hound. Your body is now a part of you and you must care for it." He pulled his hand away. "So eat."

He pulled away and paced to the door. "We had a visitor while you rested. You might like to know that I will have Crowley soon enough. And when I have him, it will please me to have you strike the blow that kills him."

Some part of himself rose to the thought, though he didn't voice it. He focused on eating. He did not want Lucifer to be angry with him. And perhaps, if he placated Lucifer, he would be lulled long enough that Castiel might see Sam again.

 

Dean watched from the relative safety of the room he'd broken into as demon possessed men and women came and went, bringing all kinds of odd things to the honeymoon suite, where he'd gathered Lucifer was holed up with Castiel.

So far he'd seen weapons and art and jewelry of all things, gold and silver, even trunks and large casks, like tributes being made, declarations of loyalty. He was biding his time.

His father and Bobby were somewhere out there, getting closer…but the longer he waited the stronger Lucifer was getting. He had to believe that somewhere inside there, Sam was fighting and that Sam could win, like he had before.

His pocket buzzed and he pulled his phone out, easing the door closed. "Yeah?"

"We're about six hours out." His father's voice.

"I've got eyes on them. Lucifer's holed up in a honeymoon suite, but the demon population around here is outrageous. Coming and going at all hours."

"Sit tight. We may have a plan."

"Just hurry, Dad. I've got a bad feeling about this."

He closed his phone and went back to the door, easing it open a crack, only to find a body on the other side. A big body.

A fist closed on his shirt and pulled him into the hallway, sending him crashing into the wall. The familiar feeling of an incorporeal hand around his throat lifted him and pressed him into the wall as an equally familiar face approached him.

"Well, well, if it isn't Dean Winchester."

"Meg." Dean acknowledged, letting himself hang limp. No point in giving her the satisfaction of a struggle. "Why am I not surprised?"

She slide up to him, rubbing her stolen body over his. "You know, it's really too bad he wants you all to himself. I'd love to play with you a while."

"To be honest, I don't fuck demons. That would be my brother."

She pulled his face to his and covered his mouth with her own, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. "Oh, you've fucked a few, Dean. You just don't know it."

She pulled back and adjusted the jacket she was wearing, then gestured with her head to the big guy she was with. Dean slid down the wall, only to be picked up and dragged toward the door to the honeymoon suite.

Meg knocked and the door opened. Dean couldn't see clearly as he was dragged, but he could hear Sam's voice, dripping with Lucifer's tone. "Meg, darling, back so soon?"

"I brought you another present."

Dean was dropped at his feet, but for the moment was ignored. "You already brought me what I wanted most. Now, you bring me Dean? Remind me, when this whole thing is over that I owe you something really special."

Dean looked up as Lucifer kissed her. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Go on now, run along. I want to play with my toys."

Dean managed to get to his knees before Lucifer grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back. "Wonderful girl you've got there." Dean ground out.

His brother's face smiled. "She is. I think maybe I'll give her Crowley's old job…the one he had before he tried to take over my gig. Of course, first I have to deal with Crowley." He pushed a big glass urn with the top all sealed in wax. "Or maybe I'll just keep him in here a while."

He pulled Dean up to standing, his eyes running over Dean's body, and back up to his face. "Hmmm…prettier than the last time we met like this."

"You mean after you tried to beat me to death?"

He let go of Dean with a shrug. "Would have been fun, if only to have you understand your place. I would have brought you back, of course."

"Sam's stronger than you expected him to be." Dean said, his eyes scanning the room and all of its prizes and presents.

"Sam is quivering so deep inside of here I'm not even sure I can find him. Poor lad. Isn't his fault really. But we don't need to worry about him popping up and ruining our fun."

Dean turned to play with a pile of jewelry, easing around a stack of boxes to get closer to the bedroom door. He saw no sign of Castiel yet, but figured he had to be here somewhere.

"I wouldn't count Sam out just yet." Dean argued, moving still closer. Lucifer was watching him, he could feel his eyes.

"If you're looking for Castiel, he's sleeping. His vessel is slow to heal. I'm taking care of him."

Dean snorted and glanced his way. "Right, because you couldn't just heal his vessel with a snap of your fingers."

"Oh, I could." Lucifer admitted. "But what lesson would that teach him?"

"So…it's for his own good?"

"Something like that. It also keeps him at my mercy…which is where I rather like him." Lucifer was suddenly right beside him. "Rather where I'd like to have you, too. Come on, Dean, lets say hello to our good friend Cas." Dean was shoved through the bedroom door.

Castiel was there, in bed, his eyes widening when he saw Dean. "Look, Castiel, Dean came to join us."

"Dean, what are you doing?" Castiel asked, his voice a ravaged wreck. 

"I'm here to rescue you." Dean offered, though he knew the reference would be lost on Castiel.

Lucifer shoved him toward the bed. "Now that we're all together, we can have some fun."

"You should know that I have back up coming." Dean said, getting his feet under him and turning to face Lucifer. 

Sam's eyebrow lifted. "Oh, I know all about them. We'll have plenty of time for what I have in mind."

"Oh yeah?" Dean was rapidly losing the bravado though as his brother's body crowded into him, pushing him into the bed, forcing him down onto it. Flashes of memory flitted through his head, but he pushed them away.

"I know you know how this works, Dean. Allistair was one of my students after all…way back in the day. How much more delicious will it be that the body that fucks you into submission is actually your brother's and not a facsimile of your father's?"

Dean shook his head and pushed at him, but he was far stronger. "My brother won't let you hurt me."

"No?" Lucifer's smile promised much more than pain, and his hand delivered, slamming across Dean's face hard enough to open his skin. "That hurt?"

Dean reached for the wound, distracted enough that Lucifer had his jeans and shoes gone and was rubbing up his thighs before he was aware of it. Dean crawled backward, up the bed, toward Castiel. With a snap of Lucifer's fingers, his jacket and shirt were gone and he was naked.

Dean kicked him in the face, then yelled with the pain it caused. Lucifer pulled on his legs and flipped him over, easily positioning him despite Dean's struggles. Sam's body covered his, holding him tight. "Let me make this easy on both of us Dean." 

He stilled, panting. "I'll be gentle with you if you cooperate."

"No." Dean shook his head. Like hell was he cooperating with this fuckwad.

"Ask Castiel. He even kinda likes it now, don't you, little brother?"

Dean looked up at Castiel, but he just looked away. "Okay, so I'll be gentle and I won't hurt Castiel if you cooperate." Lucifer offered. "Deal?"

Dean didn't respond right away. Castiel yelled as a bleeding gash opened on his chest. "Deal?"

Castiel's eyes were unfocused and distant and Dean wasn't sure how much he could take in the condition he was in. He had promised to keep him safe. He stopped fighting and hung his head. "Fine."

Lucifer seemed surprised. "I expected more of a fight."

"Sorry to disappoint you. Just get on with it."

He closed his eyes and turned his face so he wouldn't have to see Castiel watching as Lucifer used his brother's body, pressing his fingers into Dean's ass, opening him up for his cock. He grunted into the bed as he was penetrated, his hands fisting into the bed. He could do this.

He'd been through worse on the rack. Far worse. He panted through the pain, bit his lip to keep from yelling.

He felt the first flush of heat in his ass and exhaled slowly. Above him, Sam's body suddenly stopped moving. "D-dean?"

"Sam?" 

The weight left him and Dean jumped up to catch him as he stumbled backward. "What…what did I…no…" The fell to the floor together, naked and awkward and Dean could feel come oozing from him. "Go…take Cas and go." Sam said, grabbing at Dean frantically. "I can't…I can't…"

"Hold on Sam." Dean said, clutching his hand. "Hold on."

Sam shook his head. "Can't."

"You have to."

Tears slipped from Sam's eyes as he clutched at Dean. "He's stronger than me, Dean. He'll kill you…both of you. You have to run." Dean could feel Castiel behind him. Sam's weight was heavy against him. He couldn't move, he could only hold on to his brother. 

"I'm here Sam. Not leaving you."

"Don't…be…an idiot…" Sam gasped out, clearly fighting to stay in control. "Go."

Dean shook his head, leaning in to kiss Sam lightly. "No. I love you."

Just like that, Sam was gone and Lucifer was looking up at him. "That is so sweet, Dean. I love you too. Really. I do."

 

"Could you drive any more like an old man?" John asked.

"He probably already knows that we're coming." Bobby responded, gesturing at the lurking building ahead of them. "You plan on just blundering on in there like that idjit son of yours?"

"No. We stick to the plan." John said, his eyes sliding up the side of the building.

"Which is what, exactly?"

John frowned and rubbed his hands down his thighs. To be honest, what he had wasn't so much of a plan as it was a hope. He was out of his depth and swimming hard to catch up….but demons he understood…and there were bound to be an army's worth of those between them and his boys.

"Figure we start with the fire system."

"Holy water through the sprinklers. Right. That should give us some room."

"Still going to be a fight." John shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

"And then what?" Bobby asked as he stopped in the back of the hotel, near the loading dock doors. "Tell me you got something more in that thick head than marching in there and demanding your boys."

John got out of the car and pulled the sword out of the back seat, holding it up so that the sun made it shine so brightly it hurt his eyes. "I was thinking I'd shove this up Lucifer's ass."

"You do realize that ass is currently inside Sam."

John nodded tightly.

"And that only an angel can kill another angel."

John nodded again. "Your job is to cover me, watch my back. Let me worry about the details."

Bobby groaned, even as he opened the trunk. "Tell me you aren't thinking what I think you're thinking."

John snorted. "I barely know what I'm thinking. You expect me to read your mind?"

Bobby came around the car, finger already pointing at him. "They can't be trusted, none of them."

"Who?"

"Any on them." Bobby said, emphasizing each syllable with his finger on John's chest. "Especially not Michael."

John looked away rather than deny it. "From what you've told me, you don't know exactly. You've never actually seen him."

"Saw enough." Bobby countered. "He was just as much a part of the apocalypse as Lucifer was. And on top of that, he was down in that cage for better than a year. If he wasn't loco going in, he's lost it now."

John set his face hard. "You don't know—"

"No, John. You don't. You haven't been here." Bobby shoved a shotgun and some salt rounds at him. "Besides, I guarantee you, Michael will kill Sam right along with Lucifer."

He had thought about that part. "I won't let him in until he agrees to save Sam."

Bobby shook his head and started toward the loading dock.

"You got a better idea?" John asked, following him. He caught him at the door and grabbed his shoulder. "Well?"

Bobby glared at him for a minute, then looked away. "No. The last time Lucifer took Sam, it was Sam himself who beat him, jumped into the cage. I don't know if we can count on Sam to be that strong again."

John had finally gotten that full story too. How Sam's soul had been tortured and tormented while the rest of him was walking about without it. How Death had put it back inside him, and brick walled the memories. He shuddered, his own memories not so distant that he wanted to dwell on the thought. He could only imagine how much worse it would be had it been Lucifer himself.

John sighed and swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. "You deal with the sprinkler system. I'll find a place to deal with the angel."

Bobby looked disgusted, but he nodded, pulling the door open. Once inside, they split up, Bobby headed to find the fire suppression system controls, John to find a safe place to call upon an arch angel.


	7. Chapter 7

To be fair, John knew he was way out of his depth. Angels were something he could barely fathom, and judging by what he'd heard from Dean and Bobby, they were not much better than the damn demons he was familiar with, but that wasn't going to stop him.

His boys needed him. 

He laid the sword down on the desk beside the elements of the ritual. It wasn't quite the same as summoning a demon, but it was close enough to sit uncomfortably in his stomach.

Bobby was hopefully somewhere getting them an advantage, filling the fire suppression system with holy water to clear out the lower level demons. John closed his eyes as memory swelled inside him….demons clawing at him, ripping him open. He shoved the thoughts away and focused his attention on the incantation, speaking Michael's name into the cold darkness of the unused office.

For a long time nothing happened…then the flutter of invisible wings sounded and the old man he had met in the yard at Bobby's was there.

"Hello John."

He straightened up, his hand on the hilt of the sword. "We need to talk."

Michael raised an eyebrow, his eyes on the sword, then moving to meet John's. "I see we do." Michael's vessel wasn't looking good. There were open sores on his face and hands, blood on his lips.

He came around the desk, the sword in hand. "My sons are here, and I mean to save them."

"My brother has other plans, I'm certain. He's rather fond of your Sam." Michael didn't move as John approached, standing passively. 

"I don't care what his plans are. I want my boys."

"You always were a demanding bastard." Michael said. "What is it you think I can do?"

"I want you to kill Lucifer, but save Sam."

Michael snorted. "And what makes you think I can? Or that I would?"

"It's your job." John blurted. 

"He's my brother, John. I have spent an eternity with him. And honestly, he's an insufferable ass, but brilliant and beautiful…we fight, we fuck…in the end, we beat the shit out of each other, but neither of us will ever kill the other."

John pushes down the flair of panic that came with the words. "I want him out of Sam."

"Sam gave him permission, John. Not much I can do about that."

John looked him in the eye. "I will let you use my body, but only if you can save Sam."

"I see someone has filled you in on how this game works."

"Look at you." John said. "You can't be comfortable in that body. It's falling apart."

"And you would give me yours? In exchange for getting my brother out of your son?"

"That's the deal." His heart was racing, knowing this was his only chance, knowing he was a fool for believing it would be that easy, knowing his boys were somewhere nearby in need of his help.

Michael's smile was slow. "Well then, John, I think we can do business."

 

He wasn't tied down or restrained, which boggled him for a few minutes before he realized the Lucifer had no need to restrain him. No, he'd proven he could control Dean just fine without restraints.

He lifted his head, his eyes open enough to scout the room. Lucifer wasn't there. Castiel was on the bed, watching Dean.

Dean eased himself up, his whole body aching and sore, though the wounds Lucifer had inflicted were gone. He was fairly certain he'd been beaten to death, then revived. 

"Cas?"

He blinked at Dean, then nodded slowly. "I am…okay."

Dean glanced at the closed door that led out of the suite. "Can you move?" He pulled the blankets back, turning his face as he revealed Castiel's nakedness. It reminded him of his own. Castiel sat up slowly.

"Why?"

Dean exhaled slowly. "We have to get out of here."

"He will not let us leave." Castiel said, his voice dead and low.

He wasn't wrong. Dean had made a mistake coming here without a plan, without back up. "We need to be ready the next time Sam surfaces. We need to run." His stomach clenched at the thought of leaving Sam, but they needed to get away, come up with a plan. "We'll come back for Sam."

He rubbed a hand down Castiel's back, very aware of their bare skin and Castiel's tendency to lean toward him. "Can you stand?" His knee wasn't nearly as bad as it had been, but Dean wasn't sure he trusted it to hold him. Castiel pushed himself up, grabbing at Dean's arm and holding it as he found his balance. "Good. Try a few steps?"

They limped away from the bed, but the knee gave way and Castiel started slipping to the floor. Dean tried to keep him upright, but it upset the balance and they ended up in a heap on the floor, legs tangled together. Dean's cock pressed to Castiel's thigh.

"Now, isn't that a pretty sight."

Dean stiffened at the sound of his brother's voice with Lucifer's inflection. Castiel hid his face against Dean's chest, his hands clutching at Dean. 

"Stop being a dick and heal him." Dean said, pushing as much anger into his voice as he could. He pulled the two of them up, helping Cas back to the relative safety of the bed.

"I tell you what, Dean. I'll heal him. Good as new. But only if you fuck him first."

"What?" Dean turned to look at his brother…at Lucifer. "No."

Lucifer shrugged. "Okay. Fine. He can keep healing slowly. Makes no difference to me." He waved a hand and Castiel groaned. New bruises appeared on his torso, his hand squeezing Dean's.

"You fucking bastard." Dean took a step toward him, but just as easily, Lucifer shoved Dean into the wall without moving. An invisible hand stroked over Dean's cock and he fought the erection it was causing, but slowly it won.

"I can keep him like this for centuries, Dean. Hurt him, let him heal slowly…never fully to the point of being able to leave me…I can hurt him so that any mortal man would die, and let him suffer as he lies in his own piss and blood, unable to leave this shell."

"Dean." Castiel's voice was pained, his body rigid on the bed. His eyes were sunken and black, his skin mottled with new bruises over the old ones. "Please."

Dean closed his eyes. He didn't want to give in, but the sound of Castiel's voice, so broken, pleading. "Okay. Fine." Dean gasped.

The invisible hands holding him and stroking his cock disappeared. "See, I knew you could be reasonable."

"Yeah, fuck you too." Dean replied, moving shakily to the bed. His cock was hard, so that part of the battle was won. He looked at Cas though and he could already feel himself softening. His hand dropped to stroke himself as he got closer. 

"Face to face, if you please." Lucifer said, coming to lay on the other side of the bed. 

Dean licked his lips and climbed onto the bed. Castiel spread his legs, his eyes on Dean. He could do this. "I don't want to hurt you." Dean whispered, looking Castiel in the eye, trying to ignore Lucifer. 

"It is okay." Castiel responded.

Dean moved closer, holding his cock now and guiding it toward Castiel. He was open and loose from so much fucking, hot as Dean's cock slid into him. Dean closed his eyes and moved slowly. 

"Look at him." Lucifer said.

Dean's eyes opened, focused on Castiel's face, on his open mouth. He was taken with a sudden desire to kiss him, to give him something kind and soft. Dean's lips covered his, tongues brushing together as his hips moved under Dean. They moved together, joined at mouth and ass and for a moment, Dean could forget where they were and why this was happening, just be there…in a moment of heat, with a friend…someone he cared about….even loved.

His orgasm started, spilling out of him faster than he thought possible and he pulled back with a gasp, leaving Castiel's lips red and swollen and wet. Castiel's cock lay heavy and thick against his stomach, hard and leaking pre-come. Dean didn't even look at Lucifer, simply bent his head and took the cock in his mouth, sucking lightly at the tip before he began bobbing up and down the length and in only seconds, Castiel was groaning and thrusting up at him, the taste of come filling Dean's mouth.

He sat back panting when it was over. "Satisfied?"

Lucifer's smile on his brother's face was sickening. "That was quite lovely, Dean. Thank you."

"So, heal him."

Lucifer waved a hand and the new bruises faded and the long gash that ran down the angel's side and onto his stomach closed up until it was just a long pink scar.

"What about the rest?" Dean asked when it was obvious that was all the healing Lucifer was going to do. 

Lucifer's smile was lewd. "I already told you Dean, I like him better this way. Besides, that one little act of obedience isn't enough payment for what you're asking."

"You son of a bitch!" Dean launched the punch without thinking, and screamed when he was thrown across the room, into the mirror over the dresser, crashing to the floor amidst broken glass.

"Now, now, Dean. Watch that temper, Son."

Dean's head was spinning, but he lifted it anyway because that wasn't Lucifer. His father filled the doorway…only it wasn't his father. Dean could tell. He groaned as he moved, getting to his feet, though the glass made it hard. Dean was bleeding, and for the moment ignored, as Lucifer and Michael stared at one another.

"Well, well, Brother, I must say, you look good." Lucifer said finally.

John Winchester's face split into a grin. "Looking pretty good yourself, Brother."

"That meant for me?" Lucifer asked, gesturing.

Dean saw the flash of quicksilver. His father had brought the sword. He held his breath, waiting. 

Michael lifted the sword, his eyes trailing up its length. "I'm supposed to kill you, without killing the boy."

Lucifer laughed. "Are you now? Where would the fun be in that?" He reached for Michael, dragging him close and kissing him. After the briefest hesitation, Dean saw his father's body relax, his arms move around Sam's, the sword dropped as they kissed.

"I'm gonna be sick." Dean said.

They broke the kiss and both turned to look at him and Dean suddenly was reminded how naked he was…and how they could both snap him in two if they wanted.

He swallowed hard, stepping out of the circle of broken glass. "I thought you two were supposed to kill each other, not suck face. I mean, what the fuck is that about? You're brothers for fuck sake."

Lucifer crooked a finger at him and Dean was dragged across the floor to them. "Don't give me that, Dean. I know what your brother thinks about you in the darkest places inside him…how he's always wanted to touch you, be touched by you…I know how you told him you wanted to kiss him, fuck him."

Dean shook his head. "No…" Those were thoughts born in him in hell, a desperate seeking for comfort, and in the fire and torment all comfort came in thoughts of Sam.

"It's okay, Dean." Michael said, though the voice was his father's. "It is the way it was meant to be. The two of us, the two of you. We were not separated by our Father because of our hatred of one another, it was our love."

Lucifer pulled Dean closer, his hand under Dean's chin, pulling his body in close, tilting Dean's face back. "Sam wants you, Dean." His kiss was messy, and inescapable. 

Dean found himself between them, his naked body pressed in, his father's hands possessively on his hips. Memory flowed into his head…his father's voice, his father's hands…but this wasn't Alistair. This was Michael…which ultimately could be worse after all those years in the cage.

Those hands moved over skin, over his ass and down to his thighs. Lips closed over skin on the back of Dean's neck, sucking hard, then teeth until Dean hissed at the sharp pain. Michael chuckled. Whiskers burned as his mouth pressed in to Dean's ear. "Daddy thinks he could use a little of that ass himself."

"No." Dean said it through clenched teeth, struggling now against the hold, against the bodies, even though he knows it's not going to stop them from getting what they want. 

"Remember Castiel." Sam's voice says in Dean's ear.

Dean was panting, slicked in sweat. Castiel made a gurgling noise and Dean stopped struggling, glancing at the bed. Castiel had blood on his lips, new wounds on his chest and stomach. "Fucking asswipe." Dean growled at Lucifer.

"Now, now Dean. Is that anyway to talk to the ones who love you?" Michael responded.

Dean fought the urge to flail, to try to escape from between them. It would only get him and Castiel both hurt. Lucifer backed off a step, leaving Dean held tight against his father. With a snap of his fingers, Lucifer was naked and Castiel was shoved out of the bed. Lucifer lay in the middle of the mattress, Sam's cock hard and standing up.

"Come here Dean. Let's show your Daddy how much you want your little brother."

Dean felt the fingers holding him loosen up. He looked at Castiel, then back at his brother's body. He couldn't see anyway out of it. If he didn't they would just torment Cas, and when he was too far gone to enjoy, they'd move on to Dean and back again. He moved stiffly toward the bed.

Lucifer smiled and held up a bottle of lube. Dean looked away as he took it, not at his brother's face, not at his father or Castiel….anywhere else. He focused on a spot on the blanket under Sam as he opened the lube and spilled some onto his fingers. He closed his eyes completely as he moved those fingers behind himself, slicking over his hole before easing in. 

He was sore, the skin a little raw from the last hours. He worked himself open, though he could feel eyes on him.

"Enough." Lucifer finally said and the lube was grabbed out of Dean's hand.

Dean used his still slick hand to rub over Sam's dick as he moved to get up on the bed. He held it in place as he lowered himself down, his eyes closed. This wasn't so bad. He could do this. 

He pulled up again, then slid further down on the second go. On the third, Lucifer grabbed his hips and shoved up into him. Dean bit off the yell and swallowed the disgust in his throat. He had to get through this so he could find them all a way out. He was the only one who could now.

"Sam, if you're in there somewhere, I could use some help." Dean thought as the bed shifted. He barely registered the movement at first, but then there were hands on his back, dragging through the sweat building on his skin, down to where his hole was stretched around Sam's cock.

Dean froze. "No." The word came out of his mouth before he could stop it, stuttering extra syllables as his father's fingers rubbed against him, working inside of him. Lucifer's hand lifted to cover Dean's mouth, then his fingers shoved inside, making Dean choke and lean into him for relief.

Behind him, Michael chuckled and shoved two fingers in on lube. Two became three and the bed moved again. Dean bucked up, but Lucifer just yanked him down and Michael shoved with a heavy hand on his neck and Dean screamed soundlessly into Lucifer's chest as a second cock invaded him.

An iron grip surrounded him as that cock pressed inward, unrelenting, despite the resistance. He eased back a little and there was the cooling touch of more lube before he was working himself in again. This time Dean's skin gave way, and he couldn't tell if something had ripped open or if the lube had eased the way enough, but suddenly he was impaled by both cocks and he couldn't breathe.

Michael didn't relent though, and Dean is held still under the onslaught. It seems to go on forever, then there's heat bathing his insides, and the two of them are laughing…and then everything goes white hot and tilts to the side, though he finds he can't move.

Under him, Sam's face registers shock, pain.

"Close your eyes, Dean." Castiel's voice, Castiel's hand on his arm.

"NO!" Lucifer screams as white light starts to leak out of Sam.

"Cas?"

"Close your eyes."

He still can't move, and Castiel's hand covers his eyes and suddenly it's quiet, his father's body heavy against his back. Two cocks are still inside him, but they've both gone soft and Dean can see why when Castiel lets him go.

"Sam?"

"Hold still." Castiel growls, his voice a savage wreck of what it once was.

Dean can see now, the quicksilver connecting through his shoulder and into Sam, angled away from Sam's heart, but it was close….too close. Castiel yelled as he pulled the sword free and Dean felt his father fall backward, but his eyes were on the wound in Sam's chest now, his hands covering it as fast as he could.

He pulled the sheet to him and used it as a blanket. "Check my father." Dean growled at Castiel.

"He's breathing."

There was the sound of a shotgun in the next room, screaming and the smell of burning flesh, then the bedroom door burst open and Bobby was stopping dead to take in the scene. 

"Ambulance, now." Dean yelled. He wasn't going to hold on a whole lot longer. His blood was dripping down onto Sam, mingling with the blood leaking out around his fingers and the saturated sheet.

"They're on they're way." Bobby said.

Dean nodded, but it made him dizzy. "Bobby…" He was slipping to the side. "Take Sam…"

"Dean, you're bleeding too."

"Sam…."

Bobby's hands covered his and Dean slipped his away, turning to lay on his back, bleeding into the bedspread and it occurred to him that it was only fair that there be blood this time…maybe it was finally time that the three Winchesters bled out the fires of hell and finally got to sleep a while.

He could hear people talking distantly, but he was cold and couldn't pull himself up out of the dark that was dragging him under.

 

 

Castiel sat between the two beds in the wheelchair, waiting. In another room in the same hospital, John Winchester was barely alive and they weren't sure he would survive, but if he was honest with himself, Castiel was not concerned for him. If he died, one more of Castiel's mistakes would be righted and his soul would be taken to heaven, to be reunited with the wife he loved even now, after everything.

He had assurances.

If any of the three of them died, they would go home. No more resurrections, no more hell, no matter what they'd done.

The Winchesters had given enough. Had suffered enough.

They would go home.

Castiel likely never would.

He rubbed a hand over the mark on the back of his head. It was old magic. Older than any of his remaining brothers or sisters remembered. 

The body he was trapped in was healing, if slowly. He did not like the drugs they had given him, but in the first days he had taken them, hidden inside the fog they created.

Bobby Singer had told some story to the police that Castiel had not believed would work, but so far it had, and now all that was left was waiting.

He had lost everything. Everything but these two men who had taught him rebellion and free will, who had sacrificed themselves for each other, for the world. He could only hope that they could forgive him for his weakness.

And so he waited.

It had been three days since Castiel had found some measure of strength and used the archangel's sword on Michael and Lucifer. Michael had died, nearly taking John Winchester with him. Lucifer, on the other hand had escaped, only to be caught by Castiel's brethren who were still scrambling to find order in the chaos left by Michael's tear through heaven.

He was safely back in his cage, with angels guarding it.

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The doctors had treated his body, assured him it would heal. He had only to wait.

There was a familiar flutter of wings and Castiel looked up.

Balthazar leaned on the door frame. "You look like shit."

Castiel offered a weak smile and turned. "And you look much better than when last I saw you."

Better, yes. But Balthazar's smile was weary and his eyes told stories that Castiel didn't want to know. He looked away. 

"I've come to offer what I can." Balthazar said, moving into the room now. "You deserve more, but this is the best I can do. For now." His hand touched Castiel's cheek and warmth suffused him, washing away the pain, the aches, the marks of Lucifer's dominion over him. His eyes fluttered shut, relishing the feeling of grace as it flowed over him.

It wasn't enough to cleanse him though, and the mark remained, even as Balthazar drew his hand away and moved between the beds. His hands were held out, over the boys and within moments Castiel could see the differences in them.

Sam's eyes opened first, darting around the room until they found Castiel. He looked up at Balthazar, and then over to Dean who was just starting to stir. "What…"

"Thought you boys might like a few minutes with your old man before I take him home." Balthazar said as Dean pulled at the tubes in his nose.

"Minutes…what?"

Balthazar sighed and stepped back and Castiel reached a hand for him. "They deserve more."

For a long moment nothing happened. Then there was a fluttering and Castiel landed on his ass on a hard wood floor. 

They were in some cabin. Castiel was dressed in the familiar clothing his vessel preferred. He blinked, to find the three Winchesters standing together, dressed and whole, and Balthazar grumbling. "I can give you a few days here, there's food and your things, but then I'm coming back for you."

John blinked at him, then nodded. "I'll be ready."

"Dad—" John cut Dean off by yanking him into a hug.

"It isn't enough." Sam didn't look up.

"Look, if I could do more, I would. Truth is, I had to argue it back to just him. Figured you deserved something of a normal life before it's over." Balthazar said. "Unless you'd rather…"

Castiel turned his face away and climbed to his feet. If they left, he would be alone. He didn't like the tearing feeling inside of him at the thought. He should feel happiness that they would see heaven, be reunited with those they'd lost. He bit his lip to keep from speaking. He had no right to keep them.

"Cas?" Sam's voice was gentle, his hand sliding up Castiel's back.

Castiel tried to swallow the emotion climbing up his throat, closing his eyes and letting himself believe that any of the softness and affection he had felt at Lucifer's hands had come from Sam instead. "Most do not get to make that choice, Sam." Castiel said, turning to look at him with a soft smile. "But then, you are not most people, are you. Neither of you are."

Dean cleared his throat. "What about Cas?"

Balthazar looked pained and he sighed. "Until we can find a way to remove the seal, he has to stay here."

Sam turned to Balthazar and shook his head. "Then I stay."

"He stays, I stay." Dean replied, drawing himself up straight.

"No." Castiel shook his head.

"You just saved our lives, Cas." Dean said. "Again, I might add. Now you want us to just…go?"

"Want?" Castiel pulled away from Sam's hand still on his back. "No." He rubbed his hands up his arms. "But you have earned the rest."

"We can rest when we're dead." Sam said, though it felt a little forced. "I mean, seriously…why would we…how could we, knowing you'd be here alone?"

"You are not responsible for me, Sam." Castiel said. "I will manage."

"No. Sam's right." Dean stepped in, pulling Castiel into a hug. "You're family."

"Your father..."

"Was already dead." John said. "And this time, I get to ride the red line straight up top. A few days with my boys is more than I expected."

"It's settled." Dean said when Castiel opened his mouth to argue. 

Balthazar was gone in a flurry of sound and Castiel was alone with the Winchesters. 

"Anybody else hungry?" Dean asked, moving to the cupboards in the small kitchen behind them. Sam joined him and they began pulling food out, leaving Castiel alone with the elder Winchester.

"I am sorry." Castiel said quietly.

John shrugged a little. "Don't be. Dean is right, you did save our lives."

Castiel hugged himself and moved toward the window. They were somewhere wooded, serene even. "But not until it was almost too late." Castiel said into the glass. If he closed his eyes, he could see it….Dean trapped between them, the madness in Michael's eyes.

John's hand fell on his shoulder. "I'm not saying your timing was spectacular…and yes, things got…" his voice wavered and he inhaled deeply. "But in the end, you came through for all of us."

John left him there, staring out the window and went to join his sons. Castiel felt like an intruder, listening to them as they fell into banter that felt intimate and familiar somehow. Then Dean was tugging on his elbow, pulling him toward the table and the sandwiches they'd pulled together. Castiel let himself be drawn in, let it flow around him, let himself pretend.

 

Sam sat up from a nightmare that skittered away as he gulped air, blinking into the half light of the cabin. The vague images of the dream faded into more real ones of being trapped inside himself, watching his hands hurt those he loved.

He wiped the sweat from his face and eased out of bed. His father was sleeping in the next bed, but Dean's and Castiel's were both empty. Sam let himself into the bathroom, relieved himself and flushed, then splashed cold water over his face.

He padded out of the bedroom to find Dean sitting at the table, staring into a cup of coffee. "Hey."

Dean looked up, surprised. "Hey." He blinked, then looked to the clock on the wall. It was almost four in the morning. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I could say the same to you." Sam crossed the room, looking around him for Castiel.

"Couldn't sleep." Dean said. 

Sam nodded, snagging a cup and pouring his own cup of coffee. "Where's Cas?"

Dean gestured at the door while Sam poured sugar and creamer into his cup. "He went for a walk about an hour ago."

"Should we be worried?"

Dean sighed and sat back, looking up at Sam. "Probably. I mean….have you seen him?"

Sam sipped at his coffee and grimaced at the heat. "Yeah, I know." Despite being physically healed, Castiel was not himself, and Sam had to imagine that he might not ever be again. "He's been through a lot." 

"Like the rest of us haven't?" Dean asked before sighing and shaking his head. "No, I get it. I just…I don't know if I have what it takes to help him through it Sam." He stood and paced a little. "I mean, after…everything…how can he even stand to be near us?"

Sam nodded, staring down into his cup as if there was an answer in there. "You were gentle with him at least," he offered after a long silence. "I…I hurt him."

"No." Dean was suddenly beside him. "No, you didn't. That piece of shit inside of you did."

Sam swallowed, looking away. "I still feel guilty though."

"Well…stop it." Dean pulled back. 

Sam's mind flashed to what Lucifer had done to Dean too and his face flushed with heat. He stood, pushing his chair back, but Dean was still standing right there and Sam found himself chest to chest, their faces just a breath apart. Dean shifted and their bodies rubbed together. Sam inhaled and tasted coffee and Dean and the images in his head turned. "Dean." Sam breathed his name and Dean's eyes closed.

"Sam…don't…"

He wasn't sure what Dean was asking him not to do…and for the moment, Sam figured he was safest just backing away. He stepped back and nodded. "I'll get dressed. See if I can find Castiel."

Not that he expected that conversation to go any better. After all, it had been Sam's body that Lucifer had used to rape both Dean and Castiel. 

Sam pulled clothes from his duffle bag and shut himself in the bathroom to change. By the time he emerged, he could hear voices. His father was no longer in his bed and to his surprise, Castiel had returned.

Dean was making breakfast. John was hunkered down at the table with a cup of coffee, his eyes watching Dean. He looked up when Sam came into the room, his smile tight. Castiel moved past Sam into the bedroom and Sam turned, following him.

"Hey."

"Balthazar will return soon. You should be with your father." Castiel said, his voice dark.

"I want to make sure that you're okay." Sam said, reaching for him.

"I will be fine." Castiel assured, though his voice didn't seem convincing.

"Cas, I know this has got to be…awful for you—"

"Stop." Castiel said, pulling away. "You know nothing."

Sam crossed his arms. "I know that you've been through what we've all been through in hell. I know you were tortured, raped, and trapped inside your vessel and that must be degrading as fuck, and painful and hell, terrifying. I know that you feel alone, and it has to suck that you're stuck here looking at my face everyday and if I could change any of it I would."

The room was quiet for a few minutes, before Castiel moved slightly, glancing at Sam over his shoulder. "Your face does not suck." He sighed and moved to sit on the bed nearest him. "I find your face most pleasing, actually."

Sam moved to sit on the bed opposite him. "How can I make this easier on you, Cas?" Sam asked, earning a teary look up from the angel.

"I…I do not know."

Sam licked his lips, remembering how Castiel had responded in the panic room when Sam kissed him. He lifted a hand, caressed the side of Castiel's face. His eyes closed and he leaned in to the caress. Sam moved closer, brushing his lips chastely over Castiel's. Something seemed to settle in him and when he opened his eyes, Castiel seemed calmer. "I find my body is tired. I should sleep."

Sam nodded and stood. "Okay. But we'll talk about this more later."

Castiel almost smiled. "I look forward to this talking."

Sam sighed as he came back out into the main room where Dean was dishing up breakfast. "Everything okay?"

Sam shrugged. "I think it will be."

"Good. Come eat."

Sam took the chair beside his father. The last two days the three of them had talked a lot, told stories about their time apart, shared memories of times together, and they only thing that would have made it better would have been getting Mary there too.

They ate quietly, not really looking at each other. Their time together now was short and there was so much there to be said…apologies to be made…but somehow Sam knew they'd never say them.

They finished eating and moved around one another clearing the table, washing the dishes. It was an intimate dance in the small space and Sam was just putting plates away when his father hugged him spontaneously.

"I never said it enough Sam, but I love you, Son."

Sam put the plate in his hand on the counter and put his arms around the man, pulling him in close. "I love you too, Dad."

"I'm proud of you. I want you to know that." He pulled Sam even tighter before he let go and cleared his throat. There were tears in his eyes when he stepped back, his eyes turning to Dean.

Sam saw the hesitation, as slight as it was, in Dean's response, in the way he moved into his father's embrace. Their hug was just as intense, their parting slow. When they parted, Sam was startled to find Balthazar already there.

"I'm ready." John said with a slight nod.

"Dad." Dean's voice cracked. Sam slipped an arm around him and pulled him close.

John smiled, tears slipping from his eyes as Balthazar touched his shoulder. They were gone in a blink and Dean curled into Sam for a moment, hugging him tight. 

"I don't know how much more I can take." Dean whispered.

Sam's hand caressed up his back. "No more, Dean. We can just stay here."

"Promise?" Dean asked into Sam's shoulder.

"For as long as you want." Sam promised. 

Dean lifted his head, though his eyes never made it past Sam's lips. "Would you still say that if I kissed you right now?"

Sam's breath hitched and he wasn’t sure which of them moved, but then they were kissing, soft and wet and Dean's lips were open under his and it was like when Sam kissed him to make him stop dreaming, only so much better.

Sam eased back, waiting, holding his breath…ready for Dean to hit him or yell. Instead, Dean breathed out and after his eyes moved up to Sam's, his hand curled around the back of Sam's neck and his body pressed in against Sam's, pushing him into the counter as his mouth covered Sam's lips.

His tongue tasted of desperation and desire and his body rubbed against Sam's with a frantic need that he could only echo back until finally they had to come up for air and Sam was panting even as he grinned at his brother.

"I don't want to talk about my feelings or any of that." Dean said softly. "I don't want to think about why."

Sam nodded. "Okay." 

Dean stepped back and ran a hand over his face. "And…we have to deal with Castiel."

"One thing at a time." Sam said, drawing Dean back to him and kissing him again. 

Dean let him, then sighed and pulled back. "This is really fucked up."

"Yeah…but then what in our lives isn't fucked up?" Sam asked.

"Okay." Dean said, rubbing a hand over his face. Then he grabbed Sam's head and tugged him toward the bedroom. "Cas." 

Castiel sat up, his face unreadable as his eyes found their joined hands. Dean let go of Sam's hand and sat on the opposite bed. "Cas, we need to talk."

Castiel looked at them both blankly. Dean shook his head and suddenly lurched up, his hands grabbing Castiel's face and kissing him soundly. When he sat back, Castiel blinked and licked his lips. 

"Sam?" Dean's voice shook a little. 

Sam nodded. "Okay." He kissed Castiel as well. 

Castiel looked at Sam, and then Dean. "I am uncertain what this means."

"It means you think too much." Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"And it means that we care about you." Sam added. "We want you to be here. With us."

"I am here. With you."

Dean looked at him for a long moment, then started to laugh. "Yeah, Cas. You are." Dean stood then. "Right where you belong."

Castiel stood too, and the kiss looked awkward, but Dean didn't push him away. "We'll work on it." Dean said when Castiel had ended the kiss. 

Sam slipped an arm around Dean and pulled Castiel closer. "Yeah, we will."

There was still a lot to work through…memories of hell and the things done to them there…but there was a lot that didn't need to be said too. And somehow, Sam could believe that they would be okay.


End file.
